NORMAN  HOLT. 


NORMAN  HOLT 

BY  GENERAL  CHARLES  KING 


WHAT  THE  CRITICS  SAY 

"A  pretty  love  story,  like  a  silver  thread,  winds  through  the 
story  and  brightens  and  lightens  the  dark  scenes  of  battle. 
*  Norman  Holt'  is  like  a  sea  breeze — it  has  the  sweep  and  dash, 
and  is  clean  and  wholesome." — Chicago  Record-Herald. 

"  Written  in  the  author's  most  spirited  manner,  and  his  descrip 
tion  of  the  battle  of  Mission  Ridge  is  singularly  vivid  and 
forceful. " — Philadelphia  Press. 

"It  is  a  strong  story,  worthy  of  dramatization;  but  one  fears 
lest  it  fall  into  incompetent  hands,  and  so  loose  the  strong  high 
lights,  the  deep  background,  the  soft  mezzotints  which  the  author 
has  so  deftly  interwoven." — Indianapolis  Journal. 

"  It  is  a  swift  and  thrilling  story  of  action." — San  Francisco 
Call. 

"  One  meets  in  these  pages  real  human  beings.  There  is  not 
ih  the  whole  book  a  dull  chapter." — Omaha  Bee. 

•*  The  story  is  among  the  best  General  King  has  produced." — 
New  York  Times. 

"The  book  is  rich  in  romance,  thrilling  in  situation,  and  so 
intense  in  its  recital  that  the  reader  is  literally  hypnotized  with 
interest  from  the  very  first  lines.  It  is  General  King's  strongest 
work." — New  York  Press. 

"None  of  his  past  novels,  which  won  him  his  reputation  as 
one  of  the  notably  vivid  fiction  writers  of  the  country,  is  more 
dramatic  in  plot  and  stirring  in  action  than  '  Norman  Holt/  "-  - 
San  Francisco  Bulletin. 


Beautifully  Bound  in  Cloth,  Illustrated,  $1.25 


G.  W.    DILLINGHAM    CO..    PUBLISHERS 


HE    BURST   THROUGH   THE    WAVERING    LINE   OF    DEFENDERS. 

Page  328  Frontispiece. 


NORMAN  HOLT 

A  Story  of  the  Army  of 
the  Cumberland 


BY 

General  CHARLES   KING 

AUTHOR  OF 

"  THE  COLONEL'S  DAUGHTER,"  "  FORT 
FRAYNI2,1'  *'  I'NOEK  FIRE,"  ETC. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

JOHN  HUYBERS  AND  SEYMOUR  M.  STONE 


G.  W,    DILLINGHAM    COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


CopyHIGHT.1906,1901, 

O.  W.  DILLINOHAM  COMPANY. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER 

1.  CHRISTMAS-TIDE  IN  OLD  KENTUCKY,      .       •       .  f 

II.  A  MIDNIGHT  SUMMONS, st 

III.  A  DRIVE  IN  THE  DARK yj 

IV.  FLAG  OR  FAMILY, 49 

V.  SOLDIER  IN  SPITE  OF  ALL, 65 

VI.  "  DESDICHADO,  " 74 

VII.  THE  NIGHT  RIDE, 87 

VIII.  BEATEN,  IF  NOT  BETRAYED,  •       ,       .       •    f7 

IX,  HSR  FACE  AGAIN, no 

X.  A  RIVAL'S  BLOW, itt 

XI.  BROTHER  AGAINST  BROTHER,        »       .       .       .133 
XII.  SHERIDAN'S  PROMISE, 149 

XIII.  ASLEEP  ON  POST 163 

XIV.  COURT  MARTIAL 179 

XV.  THE  DEATH  SENTENCE, 194 

XVI.  SHOT — WITH  THE  HONORS  OF  WAR,    .       .       .  tot 

XVII.  COMMISSIONED, 2i§ 

XVIII.  ANOTHER  ARREST, 227 

XIX.  A  CALL  TO  BATTLE, 138 

XX.  THE  ROUT  OF  THE  RIGHT  Wmo,        •       .       .248 

XXI.  THE  CUT  DIRECT, 360 

XXII.  STRANGE  FACE  AT  THE  FRONT,  .       »          270 

XXIII.  UNDER  FALSE  ORDERS, 280 

XXIV.  "A  LIE,  AND  You  KNOW  IT,"     .       .       t       .  292 
XXV.  A  DOUBLE  ESCAPE,        .       .       .       .       .       .30$ 

XXVI.  THE  LEAP  OF  THE  Loot, $14 

XXVII.  VICTORY 329 


M12535 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 

At  Sight  of  the  Latter,  Norman  Holt's  Heart  Gave  a 

Sudden  Throb  of  Warning, 85 

"Tell  Your  Captain  It's  All  Right,  Sergeant.    It's  the 
Colonel's  Order,"   ........  143 

Norman  Holt  was  Utterly  Alone,  in  Prison,  Condemned 

to  be  Shot, 203 

Straight  for  the  Scattering  Ranks  He  Headed,  .  .  253 
He  Burst  Through  the  Wavering  Line  of  Defenders,  .  328 
His  Arms  Had  Clasped  and  Held  Her  to  His  Breast,  .  340 


NORMAN  HOLT 


CHAPTER  I 

CHRISTMASTIDE  IN  OLD  KENTUCKY 

Merrily  squeaked  the  fiddles.  Merrily  rang  the 
rafters  with  quip  and  jest  and  joyous  mirth,  with 
the  stamp  and  swing  and  go  of  the  dance. 
"Right  han'  across — now  de  lef' — dosydo — swing 
yo'  pahdnuhs — all  han's  roun',"  shouted  Harkless, 
black  major  domo  of  Belleview,  the  doctor's 
famous  homestead,  and  there  at  the  sideboard, 
ladling  out  eggnog  of  his  own  inimitable  compo 
sition,  from  the  huge  silver  bowl  that  had  borne 
for  three  generations  the  arms  of  the  Holts  of  Sur 
rey — there  in  dark  blue  "claw  hammer,"  with  flat 
gilt  buttons,  in  waistcoat  of  buff  nankeen  and  in 
snowy-frilled  choker,  there  stood  the  genial,  jovial 
host  himself.  In  two  long  lines  the  dancers  ad 
vanced,  retired,  balanced  and  swung — fair,  win 
some  girls  on  the  one  hand,  bold,  stalwart  young 
gallants  upon  the  other.  Along  the  walls,  on 
divans,  sofas,  and  chairs,  gossiped  a  dozen  smiling 
matrons,  a  sprinkling  of  elder  beaux.  At  every 
door  and  window  were  kinky,  curly  or  turbaned 
heads  and  wide-opened  eyes  of  dozens  of  darky 


10  NORMAN  HOLT 

retainers,  whose  nimble  feet  beat  time  incessantly 
to  the  stirring  music  of  "Unc'  Pomp's"  black 
orchestra. 

Three  fiddles,  a  viol,  a  tambo  and  bones,  all  in 
expert  hands,  threw  into  the  old  tunes  of  Money 
Musk  and  the  Virginia  Reel  a  verve  and  vim  and 
spirit  that  time  and  again  set  even  gray  heads  to 
bobbing — even  veteran,  gouty  toes  to  tapping  in 
irresistible  sympathy.  Festoons,  garlands,  and 
wreaths  of  evergreens  draped  the  walls,  windows, 
and  the  heavily  framed  portraits  of  bygone  Holts. 
Silver  flagons  and  tankards  gleamed  on  mantel 
and  buffet;  silver  sconces  and  candelabra,  with 
crystal  pendant  prisms,  and  bristling  with  wax 
candles,  shone  and  jingled  on  mantel,  wall,  and 
sideboard.  Colored,  opalescent  lights  glowed  in 
dim  recesses  among  the  greens,  glass  and  gourd 
both  furnishing  the  inclosing  spheres.  Foxes' 
masks  grinned  above  the  broad  fire-places,  where 
the  coals  of  famous  hickory  logs  were  still  alive. 
Foxes'  brushes,  hunting  caps,  crops,  whips,  and 
spurs  hung  here  and  there  upon  the  wall.  Red- 
berried,  sharp-spined,  dark-leaved  holly  stood  pert 
and  prim  in  every  nook  and  corner,  while  from 
the  cross  beams  overhead  in  the  very  center  of  the 
big  bay-windowed  room  hung  a  single  spray  of 
paler,  ashen  green,  amid  whose  curling  leaves 
peeped  tiny  globes  of  creamy  white,  a  sprig  that 
vested  the  place  beneath  with  strange  and  thril 
ling  interest,  a  spot  to  be  coyly  shunned  by  every 
maid  and  eagerly  sought  by  every  man  who  knew 
the  saving  grace  of  the  thrice-blessed  mistletoe, 
and  brilliant  were  the  device  and  stratagem  by 


CHRISTMASTIDE  IN  OLD  KENTUCKY  11 

which  each  sought  to  lure  unthinking  damsel 
within  the  enchanted  limits,  there  to  claim  and 
take  forfeit  of  her  forgetfulness,  for  these  were  the 
ante-bellum  days  in  the  borderland  of  the  sunny 
South,  this  was  an  evening  in  the  blithe  Christ 
mas  holiday  season,  and  in  an  old  Kentucky  home. 
And  yet,  long  after  eleven  at  night,  only  twice, 
despite  the  dangers  of  the  dance,  had  damsel 
been  fairly  caught,  and  for  those  two,  Lorna 
Walton,  a  brilliant  belle  from  Louisville,  was 
rightly  chargeable,  for  her  gown  was  a  creation  to 
which  Kate  Ray  of  Lexington  gave  more  thought 
than  any  man  in  the  room  could  claim.  She 
was  gazing  at  this,  thinking  only  of  this,  when 
suddenly  swung  beneath  the  enabling  parasite 
and  summarily  kissed  by  Henry  Holt,  the  doc 
tor's  eldest  son.  That  she  was  shamed,  stung 
and  startled,  for  the  room  resounded  with  ap 
plause  and  laughter,  helped  her  not  one  whit. 
She  flew  at  him  with  blazing  cheeks  and  eyes 
and  furiously  threatening  little  hands,  but  he 
was  long  and  lithe  and  an  expert  dodger. 
"Ah'll  pay  you  some  day,  Mistuh  Harry  Clay 
Holt,"  had  to  be  her  sole  satisfaction  for  the 
time  being.  Nor  was  she  mollified  when,  hardly 
twenty  minutes  later,  and  possibly  through  the 
same  cause,  pretty  Lou  Ward  was  trapped  and 
pinioned  and,  despite  frantic  struggles,  fairly 
kissed  by  a  comparative  stranger  at  Belleview. 
It  wouldn't  have  been  so  bad,  said  Miss  Lou,  had 
it  been  one  of  her  own  set,  because  Kentuckians 
are  always,  or  nearly  always,  cousins,  and  if  not, 
have  known  each  other  so  long  and  well  "  they  are 


las  NORMAN  HOI/T 

just  as  good  as  related."  "But  this  Mr.  Malloy," 
said  Lou,  "isn't  one  of  us  at  all.  Besides,  any 
body  can  see — any  girl  at  least — that  what 
brought  him  to  Belleview  was  no  Kentucky  girl. 
It  was  Miss  Lane  from  across  the  Ohio." 

And  Miss  Lane  was  a  damsel  many  a  man 
would  have  followed  further,  a  maid  many  a  man 
would  be  pardoned  for  singling  out,  even  in  the 
midst  of  a  bevy  of  Kentucky  women  on  their 
native  heath.  She  was  above  the  middle  height, 
slender,  yet  with  rarely  rounded  form.  Her  hands 
and  feet  were  long  and  slim  and  exquisitely 
moulded.  Her  hair  was  almost  a  chestnut  brown, 
soft,  shimmering  and  gloriously  abundant,  but 
her  face  was  one  no  man  could  look  at  and  forget — 
oval,  delicately  chiseled,  with  the  softest  curves  and 
merriest  dimples.  Her  eyes  were  radiant,  of  deep 
est  blue,  shaded  by  long,  dark,  curving  lashes  and 
overarched  by  thick,  heavy  brows  of  deeper  brown 
than  her  glossy  hair.  The  nose,  straight  and 
small,  one  never  seemed  to  see  simply  because  of 
the  beauty — the  witching  beauty — of  the  soft, 
sweet  mouth,  between  whose  red  portals  gleamed 
two  rows  of  snowy,  faultless  teeth.  Set  such  a 
head  on  a  full  rounded  neck,  above  pretty,  sloping 
shoulders,  all  dazzling  white,  and  there  is  witchery 
enough  to  compel  the  regard  of  an  anchorite,  if 
ever  such  a  being  existed,  and  to  try  the  asceti 
cism  of  St.  Anthony. 

This  night,  even  in  that  roomful  of  borderland 
beauty,  she  moved  in  girlish  triumph,  the  belle 
of  a  Kentucky  ball,  and  the  fair  young  face  was 
flushed  with  the  consciousness  of  her  power. 


CHRISTMASTIDE  IN  OLD  KENTUCKY  13 

Barely  seventeen,  without  a  care  in  the  world, 
brimful  of  health,  content  and  gladness,  the  idol 
of  a  proud  father,  the  joy  of  a  devoted  mother, 
she  lived  and  moved  as  though  smiles  and  sun 
shine  only  could  light  her  pathway,  as  though 
sin  and  sorrow  had  no  place  on  earth,  no  lodg 
ment  in  the  hearts  of  those  that  hung  about  her. 
Barely  seventeen,  reveling  in  the  delights  of  a 
pretty  girl's  first  season,  she  had  come  with  her 
parents  to  be  the  guest  of  the  master  of  Belle  view 
at  this  charmed  holiday  season,  and  to  help  cele 
brate  the  return  of  Norman,  his  younger  son.  The 
friendship  between  the  elders  was  of  long  stand 
ing.  Hot-headed,  impulsive,  often  at  fault,  Dr. 
Holt  was  none  the  less  beloved  by  a  wide  and 
ever-widening  circle,  despite  the  fact  that  his 
occasional  quarrels  had  overrun  the  borders  of 
his  chosen  state  and  overflowed  into  Ohio.  Mc- 
Intyre  &  Lane,  attorneys  and  counselors  at  law, 
had  long  been  his  closest  associates  outside  the 
limits  of  his  own  commonwealth.  The  wife  of  his 
youth  and  middle  age,  his  devoted  helpmeet,  the 
fond  mother  of  his  stalwart  boys,  was  Mclntyre's 
only  sister,  and  all  Kentucky  knew  the  stanch 
old  squire  docto^  would  never  take  another  in 
place  of  her  who  for  s»oven  years  had  been  sleeping 
in  the  peaceful  churchyard  close  at  hand.  A  sister, 
the  widow  of  a  gallant  soldier  who  fell  at  Buena 
Yista,  came  and  kept  house  for  him  the  year  after 
his  treasure  was  taken  away,  though  for  many 
moons  he  had  fiercely  repelled  the  idea  of  having 
any  one.  Time,  high  health,  and  the  demands  of 
his  profession  and  his  neighbors  had  gradually 


14  NORMAN  HOLT 

restored  the  old  geniality  and  kindliness,  but  the 
balance  wheel,  the  gentle  monitor  and  guide  that 
so  often  and  so  long  had  curbed  the  impetuous 
will  and  unreasoning  impulse,  was  sorely  missed. 
In  more  ways  than  one  the  proud,  high-mettled 
old  gentleman  had  fallen  into  error  since  her 
demise,  and  the  latest  and  worst  instance  was  in 
the  case  of  Norman — Norman  Mclntyre  as  she  had 
fondly  named  him  for  her  beloved  father — Norman 
whom  she  had  loved  with  a  tenderness  unspeak 
able — Norman  for  whom,  despite  all  his  pride  in 
his  first  born—young  "Harry  of  the  West"— the 
hot-headed  sire  seemed  to  hold  in  especial  favor- 
Norman,  whose  chosen  career  he  had  practically 
closed. 

The  story  was  already  all  over  Kentucky, 
though  hardly  a  fortnight  old.  The  lad,  in  his 
twenty-first  year,  was  at  West  Point,  standing 
well  up  in  his  class  and  wearing  the  chevrons  of  a 
cadet  sergeant.  Eighteen  months  more  would 
graduate  and  establish  him  for  life  in  an  honor 
able  profession  for  which  he  was  eminently  fitted, 
when  he  fell  out  with  a  senior,  a  cadet  lieutenant 
of  his  company  and,  after  the  manner  of  the  corps, 
challenged  and  fought  his  adversary,  who,  in 
truth,  had  been  the  aggressor  and  had  used  his 
official  position  to  vent  a  personal  spite.  There 
was  a  girl  at  the  bottom  of  it  all.  There  gener 
ally  is.  The  sympathy  of  the  battalion,  almost 
to  a  man,  was  with  the  Kentuckian,  but,  as  ill 
luck  would  have  it,  the  affair  was  brought  to  the 
attention  of  the  commandant  in  a  way  he  could 
not  ignore.  The  regulations  were  explicit  and 


CHRISTMASTIDE  IN  OLD  KENTUCKY  15 

courtmartial  had  to  come.  The  finding  was  guilty, 
the  sentence  dismissal,  but  it  was  coupled  with 
the  unanimous  recommendation  of  the  court  for 
clemenc}^  based  on  "high  character  and  soldierly 
record,"  and  the  Secretary  of  War  commuted  it  to 
confinement  to  barracks  for  a  brief  period  and  the 
loss  of  his  sergeant's  chevrons.  Everybody  felt 
confident  that  when  June  came  around  Norman 
Holt's  name  would  again  stand  high  on  the  list 
of  cadet  officers.  Norman  himself  knew  that  he 
had  gotten  off  easily.  It  was  the  old  doctor  who 
went  wild  in  his  wrath,  who  had  hurried  on  to 
Washington,  and  thence  to  the  Point,  arguing, 
denouncing,  raging.  Regulations  be  damned,  said 
he :  in  an  affair  between  gentlemen  the  only  regu 
lations  governing  the  case  were  those  of  the 
code,  which  every  Kentuckian,  every  Southerner, 
every  man  except  a  base-born  mudsil,  must  recog 
nize.  His  son  had  been  put  upon  and  insulted 
by  a  fellow  cadet,  no  matter  what  his  battalion 
rank,  and  had  simply  acted  as  a  gentleman  in 
demanding  reparation.  "I'd  have  disowned  him 
if  he  hadn't.  He  served  the  scoundrel  perfectly 
right,  suh." 

The  doctor  looked  for  triumphant  acquittal. 
He  would  have  considered  even  official  commen 
dation  only  right  and  proper  under  the  circum 
stances.  He  listened  in  amaze  to  the  order  pro 
mulgating  the  findings  and  sentence,  and  then, 
in  an  outburst  of  rage,  ordered  his  son  to  write 
instantly  his  resignation,  and  Norman,  smarting 
under  the  lash  of  the  implied  reprimand,  yet 
secretly  reluctant  and  doubting,  obeyed  the  fa- 


16  NORMAN  HOLT 

therms  mandate.  In  vain  did  the  commandant, 
himself  a  gallant  and  distinguished  Southerner, 
try  to  reason  with  the  irate  Kentuckian.  Holt 
would  have  fought  Hardee  right  then  and  there, 
and  only  a  limited  few  at  the  officers'  mess  were 
aware  how  narrowly  a  meeting  was  averted. 

They  got  the  fire-eating  physician  away  from  the 
Point  and  "on  to  Washington,"  where,  rabid  old 
whig  that  he  was,  he  more  than  relished  the 
opportunity  of  having  it  out  with  the  Virginia 
Democrat  who  signed  the  order  that  swept  the 
chevrons  from  Norman's  sleeve.  A  man  of  mark 
and  influence  was  Dr.  Holt  in  the  border  states, 
but  Kentucky  and  Tennessee,  by  presenting  candi 
dates  of  their  own  for  the  Presidency  in  the 
momentous  election  just  decided,  had  defeated  the 
party  to  which  they  were  naturally  allied,  and, 
to  the  wrath  of  the  South,  had  opened  the  doors 
of  the  White  House  to  a  rank  abolitionist,  "an 
obscure  rail  splitter,"  "a  son  of  the  soil,  who 
sprang  from  a  hovel."  Holt  went  to  denounce 
and  upbraid,  but  found  a  Cabinet  that  could 
outdo  him  at  both.  He  was  stunned  by  the  re 
proaches  of  the  President's  backers  and  advisers. 

The  President  himself  he  could  not  see  at  all. 
He  found  that  for  the  first  time  in  national  his 
tory  Kentucky  was  not  a  name  to  conjure  with 
at  Washington.  The  border  states  had  betrayed 
and  knifed  the  great  Democratic  party,  was  the 
cry,  and  turned  the  nation  over  to  the  nigger 
worshiper.  The  doctor  wanted  to  fight  Floyd, 
the  War  Secretary,  but  found  the  capital  full  of 
ama*ed  and  disgusted  statesmen,  in  whose  mouth 


CHRISTMASTIDE  IN  OLD  KENTUCKY  It 

the  very  names  of  Kentucky  and  Tennessee  were 
opprobrium.  Kinsmen  of  rank  and  influence 
surrounded  the  wrathful  borderer  and  whisked 
him  away,  taking  Norman  with  him. 

The  second  week  in  December  found  him  home 
again,  and,  forgetting  for  a  time  at  least,  his 
bitter  rage  in  the  joys  of  hospitality.  Then  Belle- 
view  was  thrown  wide  open  for  the  holidays. 
Norman  should  be  welcomed  by  the  prettiest  girls 
to  be  found  in  the  West,  and  Norman  should  be 
hailed  henceforth  as  a  Kentucky  gentleman  and 
no  starving  subaltern  in  the  army  of  an  obnox 
ious  government.  Holt  had  retired  from  practice 
three  years  before,  young  Dr.  Woodrow  succeeding 
to  the  good  will  and  the  bad  debts.  Holt  had 
inherited  wealth,  a  beautiful  home  and  estate. 
He  had  a  dozen  hunters,  dogs  by  the  score,  and 
he  hardly  knew  just  how  many  Ethiopians — he 
never  spoke  of  them  or  treated  them  as  slaves. 
He  had  his  boys,  Hal  studying  law  with  Mc- 
Intyre  &  Lane  at  Cincinnati,  and  Norman — well, 
"Norman  should  have  a  few  months'  rest,  after 
the  years  of  iron-clad  idiocy  they  called  discipline 
at  that  infernal  pauper  school  on  the  Hudson." 
He  should  look  about  him  and  take  his  choice  of 
a  profession.  He  should  go  to  college,  read  law, 
or  study  medicine,  or  stay  at  home  and  hunt,  ride, 
shoot,  and  be  the  young  squire.  But  before  they 
had  been  home  a  week  the  fond,  hot-headed  old 
father  had  seen  beyond  all  peradventure  that  the 
boy  was  already  repenting  his  action  and  pining 
to  be  back  at  the  Point. 

Never  in  his  life  had  Norman  been  happier,  dc- 
2 


18  NORMAN  HOLT 

spite  the  monotonous  routine,  than  in  the  autumn 
days  just  gone  by,  when,  on  battalion  drill  or 
dress  parade,  he  marched  as  left  guide  of  the  left 
flank  company,  wherein  every  Kentuckian  in  the 
corps  seemed  to  find  his  soldier  station.  They 
rode  together  for  hours  each  day,  father  and  son, 
and  by  every  means  in  his  power  did  the  doctor 
strive  to  reconcile  the  boy,  and  to  divert  his 
thoughts.  Norman  rode,  as  do  so  many  Kentuck- 
ians,  as  though  born  to  the  saddle,  but  he  couldn't 
be  in  the  saddle  forever.  The  long  winter  nights 
were  on  them  now,  and  there  were  hours  when 
he  could  mourn  unseen.  Holt  noted,  and  thought, 
and  acted.  The  jollities  he  had  planned  for  Christ 
mas  night  were  all  well  enough,  but  something 
had  to  be  done  at  once.  Old  friends  were  the 
Waltons  of  Louisville,  the  Rays  of  Lexington,  and 
they  were  begged  to  come  without  delay,  and 
come  they  did,  and  much  they  made  of  Norman, 
but  there  was  small  chance  for  sentiment — there 
seldom  is  where  lad  and  lassie  have  been  chums 
from  early  childhood.  Lorna  and  Lou  had 
romped,  played  tag,  and  ridden  double  with  him 
time  and  again,  and  were  too  near  his  own  age. 
Loyally  the  boy  welcomed  them  and  paid  homage 
to  them,  but  every  Kentuckian  would  do  that. 
They  were  in  saddle  every  morning.  They  chased 
the  fox  by  day  and  danced  by  night,  but  when 
the  girls  and  their  mamas  had  gone  to  bed  and 
the  doctor  would  fain  have  taken  his  boy  to  his 
heart  and  probed  his  soul  in  search  of  symptoms 
of  reviving  content,  Norman  would  steal  away, 
but  not  to  sleep,  for  Holt  could  hear  him  moving 


CHRISTMASTIDE  IN  OLD  KENTUCKY  19 

restlessly  about  his  room,  and  well  he  knew  what 
that  meant. 

And  this  was  the  state  of  things  at  the  opening 
of  Christmas  week,  and  then  came  the  Lanes  from 
Cincinnati,  and  then  a  change.  Duty  as  host 
demanded  of  the  son  that  he  should  neglect  none 
of  his  father's  guests — that  even  old  chums  like 
Lorna  and  Lou  should  have  just  as  much  of  his 
time  and  attention  as  those  who  "were  later 
arrivals.  The  old-fashioned  hostelry  in  the  village, 
too,  was  filled  with  friends  who  could  not  be 
housed  under  even  the  spreading  roof  of  Belle  view. 
Henry's  room  was  given  over  to  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Lane,  and  he  had  doubled  up  with  Norman.  The 
register  of  the  Asholt  inn  was  filled  with  names 
the  nation  knew  and  all  Kentucky  loved.  Holt 
and  his  stalwart  sons  had  every  moment  occupied, 
and  the  father  noted  with  joy  the  passing  of  the 
shadow  that  fate,  not  he,  had  thrown  about  his 
younger  hope,  his  pride,  his  little  Benjamin.  It 
was  half  a  week  before  he  fathomed  the  explana 
tion,  and  then  he  hailed  it  in  exultation  and 
rejoicing.  One  thraldom  had  succeeded  another. 
The  bondsman  to  soldier  servitude  of  the  months 
gone  by  had  surrendered  to  a  new  commander; 
all  dreams  of  military  honor  and  glory  were  ban 
ished  by  one  overpowering  dream  of  love.  The 
lad,  almost  from  the  moment  of  her  arrival,  had 
met  his  fate  in  Daisy  Lane. 

Judge  Mclntyre  had  been  unable  to  join  them. 
Cares  had  multiplied  upon  the  senior  partner  with 
advancing  years,  and  his  health  had  suffered. 
Lane,  the  junior,  young  still  and  vigorous,  felt  a 


30  NORMAN  HOJUT 

secret  anxiety  as  to  Ms  friend  and  helper,  for  such 
had  Mclntyre  ever  been.  He  owned  to  Holt  he 
hated  to  come  away  and  leave  the  elder  man,  but 
the  Judge  had  insisted.  Mclntyre's  investments 
had  gone  wrong,  said  Lane,  and  he  was  brooding, 
worrying  a  great  deal. 

"I'll  go  up  and  see  him  after  the  New  Year,1' 
answered  the  doctor,  heartily,  "and  take  Norman 
for  a  look  into  Cincinnati  society,"  and  he  won 
dered  that  Lane  should  say  so  little  to  support  the 
plan.  He  wondered  more  that  afternoon  at  Lane's 
evident  surprise  and  even  disapprobation  over  the 
coming  of  a  new  claimant  on  the  doctor's  hos 
pitality.  Old  Harkless  entered  the  library  where 
the  two  were  seated  in  earnest  chat  and,  bowing 
with  great  dignity,  presented  on  a  silver  salver  a 
letter  to  his  master. 

"Why,  this  is  from  Mac,  now!"  said  Holt,  as  he 
scanned  the  superscription  under  his  spectacles. 
"Introducing  Mr.  J.  Burnett  Malloy.  I  don't  like 
that  new-fangled  way  of  dividing  a  name.  Let's 
see,"  he  added,  as  he  drew  forth  the  inclosure. 
" '  This  will  be  handed  you  by  Mr.  Burnett  Malloy, 
son  of  my  esteemed  friend,  the  Hon.  T.  M.  Malloy, 
state  Senator,  one  of  our  foremost  men  and 
influential  citizens.  The  young  gentleman  is  vis 
iting  Kentucky,  and,  as  he  will  have  a  day  or 
two  at  Asholt,  I  bespeak  for  him  the  welcome 
you  would  accord  to  me  and  mine.'  Where's  his 
card?"  And  the  doctor  picked  up  the  square 
pasteboard.  "Glazed!"  he  exclaimed.  "Where'd 
he  learn  that  bourgeois  business?  Mr.  J.  Burnett 
Malloy  1  Staying  at  the  inn,  is  it?  Well,  Harkless, 


CHRISTMASTIDE  IN  OLD  KENTUCKY  21 

tell  Marse  Henry  I  want  him.  We'll  call  and  bid 
Mr.  Malloy  to  dinner.  Know  him,  Lane?" 

But  Lane  was  already  on  the  move  for  the  door. 
He  stopped,  half-turned,  colored,  hesitated,  and 
then  spoke. 

" Yes—that  is,  slightly.  I  wish  Mac  didn't  know 
them  at  all." 


CHAPTER  II 

A  MIDNIGHT  SUMMONS 

And  yet  he  was  a  very  presentable  young  man, 
well  garbed  and  groomed,  who  came  instantly  to 
meet  his  callers  at  the  inn.  The  doctor  had  had 
no  opportunity  to  draw  from  Lane  the  reasons 
for  his  reluctance.  Henry  had  come  at  once  in 
obedience  to  his  father's  message,  and,  while 
Norman  and  the  other  young  knights  were  gallop 
ing  through  the  forest  aisles  with  Belleview's  fair 
guests,  the  father  and  elder  son  had  driven  into 
Asholt,  close  at  hand,  to  honor  the  Judge's  note. 
Henry  had  met  both  Malloys,  the  state  Senator 
and  his  heir,  yet  knew  them  only  slightly.  The 
former,  he  said,  was  frequently  closeted  with 
Judge  Mclntyre.  The  latter  belonged  to  a  young 
and  lively  set,  with  whom  Henry  had  little  in 
common.  Henry  was  studious  and  ambitious, 
was  not  a  society  man,  and  so  appeared  but 
seldom  at  the  blithe  gatherings  for  which  the 
Queen  City  in  those  days  was  famous.  Young 
Malloy  had  traveled  abroad — something  few  Amer 
icans  could  say  two  generations  ago — and  had 
abundant  means  and  fair  manners.  The  elder 
struck  Henry  as  being  coarse  and  pushing,  but 
polish  was  not  to  be  looked  for  in  the  professional 
politician.  Henry  was  not  in  the  confidence  of 


A  MIDNIGHT  SUMMONS  23 

Mr.  Lane,  and,  therefore,  could  not  say  how  he 
regarded  the  Malloys,  but  thought  it  possible  the 
junior  partner  disapproved  of  the  son,  on  general 
principles,  as  a  possible  suitor,  for  Henry  remem 
bered  having  heard  that  young  Malloy  was  deeply 
smitten  with  Daisy's  beauty.  And  then  came  the 
youth  himself  to  greet  them  and  to  accept,  with 
evident  pleasure,  the  doctor's  cordial  bid  to  dinner 
that  evening. 

"Sorry  we  haven't  a  room  for  you  at  Belleview, 
suh,"  said  the  Kentuckian,  "but  the  women  folk 
are  there  in  force,  and  several  of  our  guests  have 
to  put  up  here.  If  they  give  you  a  comfortable 
bed  it's  all  you  need.  We  expect  you  to  spend 
your  waking  hours  with  us." 

Mr.  Burnett  Malloy,  in  expressing  his  thanks, 
displayed  much  gratification  and  a  fine  set  of 
teeth.  He  arrived  just  exactly  at  the  appointed 
hour  and  appeared  in  black  evening  dress,  which 
at  that  time  was  rarely  seen  in  the  West  or 
South,  most  men  wearing  a  frock  coat  and  shirt 
collars  of  remarkable  pattern,  and  not  a  few  still 
appearing  in  the  frills  and  wristbands  that  had 
been  the  mode  of  a  much  earlier  day.  Mr.  Malloy 
was  taken  round  the  circle  by  the  beaming  host 
and  presented  individually  to  every  man  and 
woman,  old  or  young,  in  the  big,  low-ceilinged, 
old-fashioned  drawing-room,  and,  after  the  kindly 
manner  of  the  day,  by  men  and  women  both,  he 
was  greeted  with  a  cordial  handshake.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Lane  were  civil,  \vere  courteous,  yet  some 
what  constrained  and  distant.  Daisy  gave  him 
a  swift  glance  from  her  soft  blue  eyes,  a  faltering 


24  NORMAN  HOLT 

hand  and  colored  to  the  brows  as  she  met  his 
gaze,  and  this,  too,  despite  the  fact  that  her 
mother  had  warned  her  of  his  coming. 

"Did  you  have  any  intimation,  Daisy?"  Mrs. 
Lane  had  asked,  as  they  were  dressing  for  the 
late  dinner,  and  the  child  had  fought  in  vain 
against  that  telltale  flush  as  she  answered : 

"He  said  last  week,  that — business  might  bring 
him  to  Asholt." 

It  so  happened  that  at  the  moment  of  Malloy's 
entry  Norman  Holt  was  in  an  adjoining  room— 
the  library— with  Miss  Ray  and  her  mother.  Wax 
candles  by  the  score  filled  the  drawing-room  with 
soft,  yet  brilliant,  light,  "while  the  library  seemed 
in  shadow.  The  Rays  were  full  of  interest  and 
sympathy  in  Norman's  West  Point  life — there  was 
a  lad  at  home  whose  whole  ambition  was  to  win 
a  cadetship — and  they  were  listening  in  absorbed 
attention  to  his  description  of  barrack  days,  when 
suddenly  he  saw  their  eyes  wander  to  the  other 
room,  and  then  almost  instantly,  in  surprise,  and 
surely  not  in  pleasure,  seek  each  other.  There  was 
something  so  significant  in  the  glance  that  passed 
between  mother  and  daughter  that  Norman 
turned  instinctively  to  note  the  cause,  and  turned 
just  in  time  to  see  two  forms  in  the  conventional 
evening  garb  of  two  distinct  epochs — his  father  in 
the  blue,  gilt-buttoned  swallow  tail,  the  present 
able  young  stranger  in  the  solemn  black,  with 
white,  ecclesiastical-looking  tie.  It  was  at  the 
instant  when  Mr.  Malloy  was  bowing  low  over 
Daisy  Lane's  half-extended  hand,  it  was  the  in 
stant  when  that  telltale  blush  sufiused  her  lovelr 


A  MIDNIGHT  SUMMONS  25 

face,  and,  looking  back  from  her  to  him,  the 
jealous  eyes  of  the  young  soldier  noted  unerringly 
the  eager,  joyous,  almost  impassioned  gaze  of  the 
newcomer.  He  could  think  of  nothing  else,  when, 
a  moment  later,  at  his  father's  summons,  he,  too, 
extended  a  welcoming  hand  to  the  unheralded, 
yet  evidently  expected,  stranger.  The  eyes  of  the 
two  met  in  a  straightforward,  steady  gaze,  the 
soft,  dark  brown  of  the  Kentuckian,  the  steely 
gray  of  the  guest,  and  the  hands  seemed  at  first 
to  miss  each  other,  somehow,  and  when  they  met, 
the  sturdy  clasp  of  the  Northerner  found  only 
faint  response. 

Then  Harkless  threw  open  the  folding  doors, 
and  with  his  elaborate  bow  announced  that 
dinner  was  served.  Then  the  doctor,  blithely 
saying,  "Give  your  arm  to  Miss  Lane,  Mr. 
Malloy,"  gave  his  to  Mrs.  Lane,  and  Norman  fell 
in  toward  the  rear  of  the  column,  escorting  Lorna 
Walton,  deaf  even  to  her  joyous  prophecy  of  a 
splendid  run  for  the  morrow. 

It  was  a  splendid  run.  The  day  had  been 
superb— fine,  clear,  and  with  a  frosty  rime  that 
lent  exhilaration  to  every  hour  in  the  open  air. 
And  now  Christmas  eve  had  come  and  a  second 
dance  and  even  a  larger  gathering.  Time  and 
again  during  this  evening  that  followed  the  "  splen 
did  run"  of  the  day,  laughing  girls  and  gallant 
men  found  themselves  comparing  notes  and  going 
over  and  over  again  the  stirring  events  of  the 
chase. 

Whether  because  he  had  grown  unusually  wary, 
thanks  to  such  frequent  hunting,  or  because  of 


26  NORMAN  HOLT 

the  nipping  frost,  Reynard  had  proved  a  teaser. 
Hounds,  huntsmen,  and  the  merry  party  had  run 
long  miles  in  vain,  and  as  some  brooks  were 
broad,  some  fences  far  too  high  for  all  but  the 
most  daring  and  skillful,  it  had  resulted  that 
"the  field"  split  up  into  a  dozen  little  parties 
dispersed  all  over  the  country.  It  followed  that 
toward  three  in  the  afternoon,  when  almost  all 
the  riders  had  returned  to  Belleview,  there  were 
still  four  guests  abroad.  Hounds  and  huntsmen, 
bedraggled  and  disappointed,  had  come  trotting 
back  by  an  hour  after  noon.  The  elder  women, 
who  had  driven  out  in  open  carriages  to  see  what 
they  could  of  the  sport,  had  long  since  returned 
to  the  solace  of  tea.  Miss  Walton  and  a  cousin, 
Louisville  girls,  had  ridden  in  with  Henry  Holt 
and  Mr.  Goodloe,  just  ahead  of  the  hounds.  Nor 
man,  guiding  Lou  Ward  by  a  short  cut  across  the 
fields,  had  reached  home  earlier  still,  and  -was 
striding  about  the  premises  from  gate  to  stables, 
still  in  riding  dress,  and  obviously  nervous  and 
fretful.  Four  of  the  party  only  were  missing,  but, 
had  it  been  only  one,  and  that  one  Margaret 
Lane,  so  far  as  Norman  was  concerned  the  rest 
had  returned  in  vain.  At  one  o'clock  a  belated 
darky  huntsman  reported  that  he  had  seen  Marse 
Blanton  and  Miss  Ray  at  the  ford  of  the  middle 
branch.  Miss  Ray's  horse  had  cast  a  shoe  and 
they  would  stop  at  Sparrow's  to  have  another 
set.  That  would  account  for  them.  But  who  had 
seen  Miss  Lane  and  Mr.  Malloy? 

Unaccustomed  to  cross-country  riding,  though 
a  graceful  horsewoman,  Daisy  had  refused  a  broad 


A  MIDNIGHT  SUMMONS  S*7 

jump  early  in  the  day,  and  taken  to  the  highway. 
Norman  at  that  time  was  -well  in  the  lead,  guid 
ing  Kate  Ray,  who  "rode  like  a  bird."  Malloy,  it 
was  observed,  though  a  fair  rider,  and  sitting  one 
of  the  best  hunters  in  the  Belleview  stables, 
seemed  to  care  little  for  any  honors  of  the  chase 
that  might  separate  him  from  the  girl  whose 
beauty  so  entranced  him.  He,  too,  flinched  at  a 
ditch  his  hunter  could  have  cleared  at  a  bound, 
and  cantered  away  to  place  himself  again  at 
Daisy's  side.  From  that  hour  they  were  lost  to 
the  rest  of  the  hunt,  and  practically  to  the 
world.  Not  a  soul  had  seen  them.  There  were 
thick  woods  along  the  Middle  Fork,  and  a  laby 
rinth  of  cattle  trails  and  bridle  paths,  but  the  one 
fox  that  drew  the  long  stern  chase  seemed  to 
scorn  the  cover  of  those  nearby  copses,  and  had 
led  on  like  a  rocket,  straight  for  the  spire  at 
Hardin  Hill,  nearly  nine  good  miles  to  the  north. 
Branching  from  the  pike,  a  country  road  bore 
away  for  the  hills,  and  as  the  chase  was  in  plain 
view,  it  was  but  reasonable  to  suppose  the  pair 
had  followed,  yet  men  and  women  who  took  that 
route  declared  to  the  contrary.  Was  it  possible, 
then,  that,  preferring  to  be  alone,  they  had  de 
liberately  chosen  the  byway  that  led  to  the  long 
belt  of  forest.  Mrs.  Lane  was  looking  anxious 
and  annoyed  when  after  luncheon  she  came  out 
and  joined  Norman  at  the  gate.  Mr.  Lane  was 
eager,  she  said,  to  mount  and  go  forth  in  search 
of  them.  It  was  this  that  determined  Norman 
Holt.  "Tell  him  I'll  go,  and  at  once,"  said  he. 
4 'They  have  possibly  got  bewildered  in  Buford 


28  NORMAN  HOLT 

Wood."  His  fresh  horse  was  ready,  and  he  was 
away  in  less  than  three  minutes.  They  heard  him 
winding  his  hunting  horn,  faint  and  fainter,  as  he 
sped  northeastward,  and  that  was  all  until  nearly 
six,  when  the  watchers  saw  the  trio  coming 
slowly  in  together,  Norman  afoot. 

Not  until  they  reached  the  door  were  matters 
understood.  Daisy,  white  one  minute  and  flushed 
the  next,  was  riding  Norman's  horse.  Malloy, 
plausible  and  smiling,  was  explaining  what  had 
happened,  and  Norman,  without  a  word  to  any 
body,  was  leading  to  the  stables  Daisy's  pretty 
mare,  which  had  gone  suddenly,  unaccountably, 
pitiably  lame. 

There  had  been  a  scene,  it  was  believed,  between 
Mrs.  Lane  and  her  charming  daughter  the  instant 
they  reached  the  seclusion  of  their  room.  Daisy 
had  slipped  out  of  saddle  even  before  Mr.  Malloy 
could  leap  from  his  and  assist  her  to  dismount. 
With  flaming  cheeks  she  had  hurried  up  the  steps 
to  the  broad,  colonnaded  portico,  forcing  a  smile 
for  the  benefit  of  the  women  thronging  to  meet 
her,  yet  hastening  past  them  to  her  mother  who 
stood  waiting  at  the  library  door,  where  she  had 
been  in  anxious  conference  with  the  doctor,  and 
at  once  led  her  child  to  the  stairway.  Not  until 
late  in  the  evening  did  Daisy  reappear.  Dinnei 
had  been  sent  to  her  that  she  might  rest  and  be 
in  readiness  for  the  event  of  the  holiday  season — 
the  Belleview  ball. 

But  they  had  been  dancing  over  an  hour  before 
she  came  down,  and  every  woman  present  knew 
she  had  been  weeping.  Norman,  too,  despite  the 


A  MIDNIGHT  SUMMONS  29 

demands  upon  him  as  host,  was  far  from  being 
his  usual  self— was  fitful,  nervous,  absentminded. 
Malloy,  however,  seemed  thoroughly  at  his  ease, 
buoyant  and  debonair,  dancing  assiduously  with 
one  girl  after  another,  and  striving  to  be  agree 
able  to  all— to  all  at  least  until  Daisy's  late  ap 
pearance.  The  thing  that  observant  women  could 
not  fail  to  note  was  that  Norman  Holt  never  once 
addressed  him  during  the  entire  evening,  and 
spoke  only  awkwardly  and  with  cold  constraint, 
when  compelled  to  answer  his  remarks.  It  was 
long  after  ten  o'clock  when  Mrs.  Lane  and  her 
daughter  joined  the  party  in  the  ball-room.  The 
mistletoe  bough  still  hung  conspicuously  and 
threw  its  potent  spell  on  all  beneath,  but  maids 
and  matrons  were  shy  and  guarded  now,  and 
mindful  of  the  previous  eve. 

There  had  been  fun  illimitable  over  Kate  Ray's 
capture.  She  was  one  of  the  most  popular  girls 
in  all  Kentucky,  and  men  and  women  both  were 
her  frank,  devoted  friends.  There  had  been 
laughter  and  what  might  be  called  polite  applause 
when  pretty  Lou  Ward  was  fairly  trapped  by  the 
stranger  within  their  gates,  and,  taken  utterly  by 
surprise,  was  most  respectfully  but  palpably  kissed 
by  that  well-groomed,  well-mannered  young  man. 
Lou  herself  hardly  knew  whether  to  laugh  or  cry. 
It  was  at  herself,  or  her  "own  stupidity,"  she  was 
most  incensed,  not  so  much  at  him.  Yet,  even  in 
the  holiday  season,  and  under  the  mistletoe,  wasn't 
it— impudent?  Even  if  he  had  caught  her  fairly, 
which  she  denied,  he  should  not  really  have  kissed 
her,  said  Lou.  He  should  only  have— made  be- 


SO  NORMAN  HOLT 

tteve.  That's  what  a  Kentucky  gentleman  would 
have  done.  "Isn't  Henry  Holt  a  Kentucky  gentle 
man?"  asked  Mrs.  Walton,  laughing,  for  she  had 
her  doubts  as  to  the  limitation  thus  ascribed  to 
the  guild.  "I  don't  remember  that  he  spared 
Kate." 

Miss  Ward  pouted  in  high  dudgeon.  She  was 
not  good  at  argument.  She  found  little  or  no 
sympathy  until  she  happened  to  catch  sight  of 
Kate  Ray,  and  all  that  young  lady  would  admit 
was  that  Mr.  Malloy  was  a  man  who  never  neg 
lected  opportunities.  It  developed  that  Kate  had 
met  Mr.  Malloy  when  visiting  Cincinnati,  and 
further,  without  so  saying,  she  had  impressed  Miss 
Ward  with  the  belief  that  Mr.  Malloy  was  no 
favorite,  or  even  friend.  So,  this  second  even 
ing,  an  odd  feeling  seemed  to  be  growing  up 
against  that  business-like,  energetic  young  man 
from  the  Buckeye  state,  even  when  many  people 
were  speaking  admiringly  of  his  visibly  good 
points  to  that  most  courteous  of  hosts,  the  doc 
tor.  As  Belle  view's  guests,  they  seemed  to  find  it 
incumbent  on  them  to  assure  their  entertainer 
how  much  they  saw  to  remark  in  the  only  man 
not  Virginia  or  Kentucky  bred  thus  bidden  to 
meet  them—a  rather  significant  symptom  that 
there  might  be  points  that  possibly  called  for 
explanation. 

And  one  of  these  was  the  long  disappearance  of 
the  stranger  guest  that  morning,  when  in  com 
pany  with  and  responsible  for  one  of  the  youngest 
and  loveliest  of  the  assembled  party. 

With  every  appearance  of  frankness,  with  every 


A  MIDNIGHT  SUMMONS  31 

expression  of  proper  regret,  he  had  told  the  story 
to  man  after  man,  and  to  the  women  who  wit 
nessed  their  return — told  it  practically  as  he  had 
told  it  to  Norman,  when  that  keen  young  scout 
and  rider  came  upon  them  in  the  depths  of  the 
Buford  Wood.  He  declared  he  had  heard  the  dis 
tant  bay  of  the  hounds  coming  from  over  the  tree- 
tops,  indicating  that  Reynard  had  turned  sharply 
eastward  when  near  Hardin  Hill,  and,  in  his  inex 
perience,  as  he  frankly  said,  he  reasoned  that  the 
fox  was  now  making  for  the  woods.  Why  not 
ride  directly  thither,  and  be  foremost  in  the  hunt? 
Miss  Lane  evidently  longed  to  be  up  at  the  front 
again,  but  could  not  take  the  higher  fences.  He 
persuaded  her  to  gallop,  as  he  said,  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  sound,  and  away  from  the  trailing 
field.  But  once  within  the  wood  the  bridle  path 
became  crooked,  narrow,  intricate.  The  sounds 
were  deadened,  and  in  less  than  half  an  hour  he 
found  himself  bewildered.  Then,  in  crossing  a 
shallow  ditch,  Miss  Lane's  pretty  mount  strained 
her  off  hind  leg  in  some  mysterious  way,  and, 
evidently  in  great  pain,  could  not  set  the  hoof  to 
earth.  Malloy  found  a  seat  for  his  partner  on  a 
fallen  log,  and  followed  a  path  to  the  open  fields 
to  the  north,  hoping  to  see  something  of  the 
hunt,  but  succeeded  only  in  hailing  a  negro  who 
promised  to  go  at  once  to  Belleview,  seven  miles 
away,  and  bring  the  phaeton  for  Miss  Lane. 
Then  he  rode  back  to  her  and  waited— waited 
long  hours— and  strove  to  comfort  her  by  the 
assurance  that  aid  must  soon  come.  Not  until 
nearly  four  did  they  hear  the  mellow  notes  of  a 


32  NORMAN  HOLT 

hunter's  horn  winding  through  the  forest,  and 
Malloy's  shout  in  answer  brought  Mr.  Holt  to 
their  retreat,  and  Mr.  Holt  could  tell  the  rest. 
It  seems  that  Mr.  Holt  had  stripped  off  the  sad 
dles,  reset  Miss  Lane's  on  his  own  fresh  horse, 
and  started  them  home,  while  he  followed  afoot, 
leading  poor  hobbling  Nellie  Gray.  It  was 
most  unfortunate,  but  nobody,  said  Malloy,  was 
to  blame  except  himself,  the  narrator,  unless  it 
was  the  darky  field  hand  whom  he  had  liberally 
tipped  to  induce  him  to  go  with  all  speed  to 
Belleview.  It  is  easy  to  shift  blame  to  black 
shoulders,  yet  it  was  pointed  out  to  Mr.  Malloy 
that  the  policy  of  wisdom  was  never  to  pay  an 
Ethiopian  in  advance:  he  was  apt  to  spend  the 
money  and  have  his  fling  before  giving  heed  to 
his  errand.  But  the  answer  was  prompt:  The 
negro  wished  to  hire  a  mule,  and  could  not  with 
out  money,  which  was  how  the  guileful  bondman 
secured  his  fee  in  advance. 

To  his  father's  guest  Norman  would  make  no 
sign  of  the  suggestion  that  occurred  to  him  on  the 
spot.  The  negro  must  have  been  an  alien  and 
a  stranger  who  could  not  get  a  mule  to  ride  to 
hospitable  Belleview.  There  wasn't  a  darky  -with 
in  a  radius  of  a  dozen  miles  that  wouldn't  jump 
at  the  chance  of  going,  even  afoot,  for  never  came 
messenger,  black  or  white,  to  Belleview's  gates 
that  went  away  unblessed,  unfilled.  Aunt  Chloe's 
kitchen  was  famous  for  its  good  cheer — famous 
as  the  doctor's  sideboard.  The  story  about  the 
messenger  might  be  true,  but  there  was  one  man 
too  bitter  and  too  jealous  to  believe  it,  yet  too 


A  MIDNIGHT  SUMMONS  33 

true  a  son  of  his  father  and  of  his  state  to  ex 
press  doubt  of  his  father's  guest. 

Through  a  maze  of  narrow  tracks  and  crooked 
trails  young  Holt  had  led  them  to  the  light, 
Malloy  talking  volubly,  Miss  Lane  silent  and  dis 
turbed.  Once  in  the  open,  southward  fields  Nor 
man  pointed  out  cross-country  roads  for  them  to 
follow  through  various  plantations  and  estates, 
and  bade  them  gallop  on,  but  again  did  the 
Cincinnatian  take  the  wrong  turn,  and  a  twenty 
minute  detour.  Again  did  the  trio  come  to 
gether,  Daisy  by  this  time  almost  tearful,  but 
Malloy  as  buoyant  as  ever.  Again  did  Norman 
start  them  on  the  short  cut  to  the  pike,  and  wave 
them  on,  grimly  setting  his  teeth  and  towing 
poor,  limping  Nellie  through  the  stubble,  but  now, 
who  knows  what  wayward  impulse  seized  upon 
the  girl!  Was  it  to  punish  one  lover  or  to  en 
courage  another?  Miss  Lane  declared  herself  too 
tired  to  gallop,  and  half  distrustful  of  her  escort's 
topographical  sense.  "I'm  not  going  to  lose  the 
road  again,"  said  she  in  so  many  words.  "I 
mean  to  stay  right  here  by  Mr.  Holt.  If  you  are 
in  a  hurry,  Mr.  Malloy,  ride  home  and  tell  them 
we're  coming." 

Long,  long  afterward  did  she  recall  that  ill- 
considered  speech,  and  the  effect  it  had  on  each. 
Malloy's  keen  face  turned  almost  white,  and  a 
strange  glitter  leaped  into  his  steely  eyes.  Nor 
man  Holt  flushed  to  the  very  brows,  but  for  a 
moment  neither  spoke.  Malloy  gazed  out  over  the 
rolling  landscape  to  where  Belleview's  tower  was 
glittering  in  the  slanting  sunshine,  until  he  had 
3 


34  NORMAN  HOLT 

steadied  himself  a  moment,  then  calmly  enough 
replied:  "I'm  not  skilled  in  backwoods  tricks. 
Perhaps  it  will  be  just  as  well  to  take  no  more 
chances." 

"Why,  I  believe  Mr.  Holt  could  guide  us  home 
if  it  were  pitch  dark,"  impetuously  spoke  the  lady. 
"Couldn't  you,  Mr.  Holt?" 

"I  have  guided  a  lost  party  to  Belleview  on  a 
black  night,"  was  the  reply.  "You  see,  I've 
known  these  trails  almost  from  babyhood.  I 
dare  say  if  I  had  to  I  could  do  it  again." 

She  was  thinking  of  that  homeward  ride,  and 
of  Norman's  words,  and  not  of  Malloy  or  of  his 
exploit  of  the  previous  evening— the  ravished  kiss 
that  Miss  Ward  was  so  lamenting.  She  sat  there 
by  her  mother's  side,  strange  contrast  to  the 
girl  who  had  been  so  radiant  the  night  before, 
refusing  now  every  invitation  to  dance.  She  was 
still  tired,  she  declared,  and  unaccountably  stiff 
and  sore.  She  had  been  so  little  in  the  saddle 
since  the  spring.  "If  you  dance  to-night  with 
one,"  her  mother  had  said,  "you  cannot  refuse 
others,  and  Mr.  Malloy  will  be  sure  to  ask  for 
all  you  can  possibly  give  him."  Daisy  was  play 
ing  wall-flower,  a  role  to  which  she  was  utterly 
unaccustomed,  but  men  swarmed  about  and  per 
sisted  in  their  importunities,  especially  Malloy. 
Norman  Holt  alone  did  not  repeat  his  request  for 
a  dance.  Even  as  midnight  approached,  the  hour 
at  which  all  were  to  join  in  one  cup  of  wassail 
to  the  honor  of  Father  Christmas,  there  were 
men  who  hovered  about  her  chair  and  begged 
that  she  reconsider.  Seeing  this,  with  an  odd, 


A  MIDNIGHT  SUMMONS  35 

semi-possessive  manner,  Malloy  placed  himself  at 
her  side,  and,  despite  averted  looks  and  a  decid 
edly  cold  shoulder,  hung  there  undauntedly,  a  sort 
of  single-headed  Cerberus,  warning  off  all  comers 
until  the  midnight  hour  chimed  from  the  old  Dutch 
clock  in  the  broad  hallway,  when,  glasses  in 
hand,  the  whole  assemblage  gathered  about  the 
glad,  genial  host. 

There  were  men  that  night  who  spoke  of 
it  before  they  sought  their  rooms,  and  thought 
of  it  again  and  again  in  the  years  that  fol 
lowed.  Never  had  the  master  of  Belleview 
seemed  in  blither,  gayer  mood,  his  ruddy  face 
wreathed  in  smiles,  his  kindly  eyes  twinkling  in 
joy  and  hospitality  and  benediction  on  all  around 
him.  Even  the  servants  had  been  summoned  in, 
Harkless  at  their  head,  and  in  broad  black  circle, 
turbaned  poll  and  kinky  crown  encompassed 
round  about  the  bevy  of  fair  women  and  brave 
men.  To  each  was  given  a  brimming  glass  of  the 
doctor's  famous  mixture.  Its  fragrance  arose  to 
the  very  rafters,  and  then  all  other  sounds  were 
hushed  as  the  doctor,  beaming  on  them,  lifted  up 
his  glass  and  voice.  Only  three  days  before  had 
come  the  startling  news  that  South  Carolina, 
spoiled  and  petted  child  of  the  family  of  states, 
had  declared  all  bonds  annulled,  all  ties  severed, 
and  proclaimed  her  secession  from  the  Union. 
No  man  could  tell  to  what  it  might  lead.  No 
thinking  man  could  fail  to  see  that,  grave  and 
momentous,  a  crisis  had  come  in  the  onward 
sweep  of  our  national  life.  Even  here,  in  the 
midst  of  all  the  Christmas  joys  at  Belleview. 


36  NORMAN  HOLT 

there  had  been  grave  faces  among  the  few  elders, 
but  to-night  the  old  doctor's  was  unclouded. 

"Friends  and  kindred,"  he  began,  "old  friends 
and  new,  good  friends  all :— So  long  as  I  have 
lived  here  in  the  heart  of  our  beloved  common 
wealth  has  it  been  the  boast  of  Belleview  that  no 
living  soul,  white  or  black,  failed  of  welcome  and 
of  our  good  cheer  on  this  thrice  blessed  anniver 
sary.  Peace  on  earth,  good  will  to  men,  has  been 
the  motto  over  our  hearthstone  from  the  day 
these  doors  were  opened.  Peace  on  earth,  good 
will  to  men,  remains  its  watchword  to-day,  and 
such,  please  God,  shall  be  its  watchword  through 
generation  after  generation  long  after  I  am  laid 
beneath  the  sod.  We  rejoice,  my  sons  and  I,  in 
your  presence  here  to-night.  We  pledge  you  with 
full  hearts  and  brimming  glasses.  We  drink  to 
Christmas  past,  to  Christmas  present,  and  to 
Christmas  to  come.  May  another  year  bring  us 
all — all  who  are  here  to-night — again  within  these 
walls,  then  as  now,  to  drink  to  each  other's 
health  and  peace  and  happiness,  and  to  say,  in 
the  words  of  Tiny  Tim,  God  bless  us,  every  one." 

The  moment  that  followed,  first  of  murmurous 
applause,  then  of  silence  as  glasses  were  raised 
to  answering  lips,  was  rudely  closed.  Sudden  and 
imperative,  somebody  was  knocking  at  the  outer 
door. 


CHAPTER  III 

A  DRIVE  IN  THE  DARK 

When  Harkless  returned  it  was  to  summon  Dr. 
Holt  to  the  hall.  The  chat  and  laughter  seemed 
to  have  died  away.  There  is  something  grewsome 
in  a  midnight  summons  when  it  breaks  in  upon 
a  scene  of  mirth  and  gladness.  A  sense  of  fore 
boding  or  at  least  of  constraint  had  fallen  on  the 
company.  The  negroes  glanced  at  each  other 
with  fearsome  eyes  and  fell  back,  whispering,  to 
the  doorway.  Henry,  with  obvious  concern  on 
his  earnest  face,  had  started  as  though  to  follow 
and  support  his  father.  It  was  Norman  who 
arose  to  the  occasion  and  who  bade  black  Pomp 
to  strike  up  at  once  with  his  liveliest  music.  It 
seemed  to  recall  the  many  guests  to  a  sense  of 
one's  duty  to  one's  neighbor.  Kate  Ray  was 
foremost  in  the  effort  to  banish  the  sudden  gloom, 
and  her  cordial,  joyous  tones  gave  courage.  Mr. 
Lane,  with  appreciative  eyes,  nodded  smilingly  to 
Norman,  as  though  to  commend  his  generalship, 
and  raised  his  glass  once  more  to  his  lips.  Then, 
glancing  toward  his  wife  and  daughter,  his  eyes 
fell  upon  Malloy,  who,  abandoning  his  station  by 
Daisy's  chair,  had  stepped  to  the  nearest  window 
and,  drawing  aside  the  heavy  curtain,  was  striv- 
ing  to  peer  into  the  night.  His  face  had  gone  sud- 


88  NORMAN  HOLT 

denly  pale,  and  the  lawyer  marked  and  marveled, 
Then  again  came  the  old  butler  from  the  hallway, 
and  in  spite  of  themselves,  women  and  men,  too, 
found  it  impossible  not  to  look  to  see  whom 
next  he  might  summon.  It  was  Lane  himself, 
who,  setting  down  the  glass,  half  empty,  quietly 
slipped  out  into  the  hallway.  It  was  then  that 
Mr.  Malloy  was  seen  to  quit  the  window  and, 
with  strange  and  unaccountable  pallor,  to  edge 
his  way  among  the  groups  and  couples  reforming 
for  the  dance,  until  he  reached  the  main  doorway. 
There  he  hung,  as  though  listening  for  tidings 
from  beyond.  Kate  Ray,  whose  bright  eyes  were 
active  as  her  blithe  tongue,  noted  it  all,  even  as 
she  chatted— noted  that,  as  for  the  third  time 
Harkless  noiselessly  entered,  the  stranger  placed 
a  detaining  hand  upon  the  negro's  arm  and 
whispered  a  question ;  heard  old  Harkless  gravely 
answer,  "I  do  not  know,  suh,"  and  with  an 
apologetic  bow  to  his  master's  guest,  saw  him 
pass  on,  and,  meeting  the  eyes  of  young  Marse 
Henry,  bow  again.  It  meant  that  the  elder  son 
was  wanted,  and  now,  as  though  drawn  by 
some  dread  or  power  he  could  not  resist,  Malloy 
followed. 

In  three  minutes  Henry  was  back.  The  situation 
was  becoming  strained,  and  he  felt  it.  The  guests 
could  not,  should  not,  longer  be  kept  in  ignorance 
of  the  cause  of  the  midnight  summons.  In  quiet 
tones  he  announced  to  the  nearest  group  that  a 
dispatch  had  come  from  Cincinnati.  Judge  Mc- 
Intyre  was  quite  ill,  and  business  demanded  that 
Mr.  Lane  should  hasten  home  at  once.  Mrs.  Lane, 


A  DRIVE  IN  THE  DARK  39 

bidding  Daisy  remain,  left  the  room  and  joined  her 
husband.  "Pray  go  on  with  the  dance, "  said 
Henry,  though  his  face,  too,  had  taken  on  a 
shade  of  gray,  and  obediently  Pomp  and  his 
satellites  fiddled  away,  and  loyally  did  they  strive, 
men  and  women  both,  not  to  show  that  they  had 
lost  all  heart  for  merriment. 

Strive  as  they  might,  there  were  men  in  that 
room  who  felt  well  assured  that  all  had  not  been 
told,  and  that  matters  of  grave  import  would 
yet  be  announced.  The  doctor  himself  came  in 
for  a  moment,  as  though  he  felt  it  due  his  friends 
to  maintain  a  semblance  of  hopefulness  and  of 
the  old  hospitality.  But  the  glow,  the  radiance, 
had  fled  from  his  fine  old  face.  Even  in  his  smile 
the  lips  would  quiver  almost  piteously.  There 
was  trouble  in  the  kindly  eyes.  There  was  grief 
in  the  stout  old  heart.  "Some  kind  of  a  stroke," 
was  the  next  rumor  that  flitted  about  from  lip 
to  lip,  and  Mr.  Lane  was  making  preparations  to 
go  at  once.  "Oh,  no!  Pray  keep  up  the  dance," 
the  doctor  pleaded.  "Come,  another  nip  of  egg- 
nog  with  me,  Harrod,"  he  hailed  a  tall,  stalwart 
young  Kentuckian,  who  had  slipped  out  in  search 
of  the  family  carriage,  and  whose  face  was  three 
shades  grayer  as  he  returned.  "Help  keep  it 
going,  my  boy,  for  God's  sake!"  muttered  the 
doctor  as  they  touched  their  glasses  after  the 
kind  old  fashion  of  the  day.  "I've  got  to  send 
Norman  with  Lane.  Help  Henry  all  you  can." 
The  younger  man  nodded,  clasped  the  doctor's 
hand,  and  turned  quickly  toward  the  guests. 
"Some  kind  of  stroke,"  was  the  whisper,  yet  the 


40  NORMAN  HOLT 

honored  Judge  and  gentleman  was  never  of  apo 
plectic  tendency.  He  was  tall,  slender,  of  nervous, 
sensitive  temperament.  What  kind  of  a  stroke? 

Then  young  Malloy  reappeared.  Norman,  after 
a  few  murmured  words  from  his  father,  had  bent 
over  Daisy's  chair.  "I  am  going  to  drive  Mr. 
Lane  to  the  railway,"  said  he.  "A  train  leaves 
Bardstownfor  Louisville  at  daybreak,  so  I  have 
got  to  say  good  night.  I  had  hoped  to  ride  with 

you  to  Christmas  service  in  the  morning,  but " 

he  stopped  irresolute.  Her  eyes,  that  had  been 
uplifted  to  his  face,  were  glancing  beyond.  He 
turned  to  see,  and  encountered  Malloy's.  "I,  too, 
must  go,"  was  that  gentleman's  hurried  announce 
ment.  "I  suppose  you  will  change  your  dress, 
Mr.  Holt.  It's  what  I  have  to  do,  and  Mr.  Lane 
says  you  will  pick  me  up  at  the  inn." 

Mr.  Lane  had  said  nothing  whatever  to  Norman 
on  the  subject.  There  had  been  no  opportunity. 
It  was  a  twenty-five  mile  moonless  drive,  cross 
country  to  Bardstown,  over  on  the  other  branch 
of  the  railway,  and  the  only  point  from  which  a 
train  could  be  counted  on  before  afternoon.  Cae 
sar,  the  rheumatic  old  coachman,  knew  little  of 
the  northward  roads  beyond  the  Hardin  Hills. 
Norman  knew  every  trail  and  woodpath  for  thirty 
miles  around.  It  was  a  case,  the  father  confided 
to  his  son,  almost  of  life  or  death.  He  himself 
would  follow  as  soon— as  soon  as  he  could  decent 
ly  do  so.  Norman  Holt  had  hoped  to  say  more 
to  Daisy  Lane  before  he  started,  but  no  word  was 
possible  now  with  this  imperturbable  adorer 
hovering  over  them.  It  would  be  half  an  hour  at 


A  DRIVE  IN  THE  DARK  41 

least  before  the  start.  He  would  hurry  to  his 
room  and  change  his  dress.  By  that  time  Malloy 
would  have  had  to  go.  He  choked  a  bit  in  the 
hurried,  conventional  good-night,  as  he  bowed 
over  her  slender,  unresponsive  hand ;  then,  without 
another  glance  at  Malloy,  hurried  away.  In  ten 
minutes  he  was  bounding  down  the  stairs  again, 
and  met  her,  wan  and  tired-looking,  going  with 
her  mother  to  her  room.  "Daisy  was  so  fond  of 
Judge  Mclntyre  and  he  of  her, "  was  the  explana 
tion,  "and  then— she  decidedly  overdid  it  this 
morning." 

In  the  big  dining-room  were  obvious  signs  of 
breaking  up,  despite  the  doctor's  pleadings.  Peo 
ple  seemed  to  feel  they  ought  to  go.  There  were 
whisperings  of  two  dispatches.  One  merely  said 
the  Judge  had  been  suddenly  and  seriously  pros 
trated.  The  other  was  apparently  for  the  doctor 
alone,  and  told  of  something  beyond.  The  messen 
ger  who  had  ridden  out  from  town  was  a  tall 
native,  a  hanger-on  about  the  stables  of  the  inn, 
a  Kentuckian,  big  of  nature  and  free  of  speech, 
and  he  had  not  scrupled  to  say  in  answer  to 
questions  of  those  who  were  ministering  to  his 
inner  man,  that  the  wires  had  been  hot  with 
exciting  news  from  Louisville,  mainly  from  points 
farther  south,  where  the  people  were  in  a  ferment 
over  the  doings  in  South  Carolina.  And  though 
the  two  messages  he  bore  reached  the  doctor 
together,  he  knew  they  had  come  nearly  an  hour 
apart.  "Some  kind  of  a  stroke!"  Yes,  that  was 
the  dispatch  that  came  for  the  editor  of  the 
Clarion. 


42  NORMAN  HOLT 

Judge  Mclntyre  had  been  a  frequent  visitor  in 
the  old  days  of  his  beloved  sister's  life,  and  all 
the  townsfolk  knew  him  and  loved  him,  and  there 
was  genuine  sorrow  among  the  revelers  sitting 
up  at  the  inn  to  welcome  Father  Christmas  at 
the  stroke  of  twelve.  "I  heard,"  said  the  messen 
ger,  "I  misremember  who  it  was  told  it,  that  the 
Judge  had  been  failing  nigh  on  to  a  year,  but  this 
thing  came  so  sudden  like  when  nobody  expected 
it."  Later  advices  sent  by  post  the  following 
day  were  to  the  effect  that  Judge  Mclntyre  was 
alone  at  the  office,  and  the  last  man  to  see  him 
before  they  picked  him  up  insensible  was  Senator 
Malloy,  who  was  very  much  shocked — who  said 
he  had  left  him  at  four  o'clock,  apparently  per 
fectly  well.  At  six  the  janitor  heard  a  sound  as 
of  moaning  in  the  judge's  private  office,  forced  the 
door,  and  found  him  lying  on  the  sofa  uncon 
scious,  with  froth  on  his  lips  and  beard.  Dr. 
Welland,  whose  rooms  were  in  the  same  building, 
was  summoned  instantly,  glanced  at  the  stricken 
man,  and  sent  the  janitor  on  the  run  for  the 
family  physician,  and  for  other  aid.  When  he 
returned  all  save  doctors  and  attendants  were 
excluded  from  the  office.  There  seemed  to  be  a 
good  deal  of  moving  around,  and  the  janitor  said 
it  sounded  more  like  a  sparring  match  than  a 
sick  room,  but  these  were  particulars  only 
gathered  later  still. 

At  least  no  such  particulars  were  known  when 
at  two  in  the  morning  the  stout,  Western-built, 
double-seated  spring  wagon  drove  briskly  away 
from  Belleview  behind  a  team  of  Kentucky  road- 


A  DRIVE  IN  THE  DARK  43 

stcrs  that  were  the  boast  of  the  blue-grass 
country — Norman,  -with  a  silent  "boy,"  his  body 
servant,  on  the  front  seat,  Mr.  Lane,  warmly 
bundled  up,  on  the  rear. 

The  night  was  dark  and  moonless,  but  crisp 
and  frosty.  The  stars  twinkled  in  the  almost 
cloudless  sky.  The  doctor  had  come  forth  with 
his  guests,  whispered  a  few  words  in  Lane's  ear 
as  he  shook  his  hand  at  parting,  then  nodded  to 
his  son  and  away  went  the  bays.  The  inn  was 
still  brightly  lighted  and  a  number  of  curious 
villagers  hung  about.  Mr.  Mall oy  came  forth  with 
valise  and  bag,  and,  with  hardly  a  spoken  word, 
took  his  seat  beside  Mr.  Lane,  and  in  three  min 
utes  Asholt  was  left  behind.  In  low  tone  and  at 
intervals  Mr.  Malloy  sought  to  engage  Lane  in 
conversation,  but  the  replies  of  that  gentleman 
were  brief  and  uninviting.  Evidently  the  lawyer 
preferred  his  own  thoughts,  especially  as  Malloy 
developed  a  desire  to  speak  of  the  stricken  judge 
and  the  possible  causes  of  the  sudden  seizure. 
Then  Malloy  essayed  some  cheery  remarks  about 
the  finely  matched  team,  speeding  like  clock-work 
along  the  hard-beaten  pike,  and  their  driver 
bowed  his  head  in  silence.  Finally  as  they  began 
the  ascent  of  the  Hardin  Hills,  and  were  winding 
slowly  up  a  steep  grade,  the  young  man  tendered 
cigars  to  his  companions,  which  were  civilly 
declined,  and,  lighting  a  match  on  the  broad 
back  of  the  negro  in  front  of  him,  Mr.  Malloy 
subsided  into  silence. 

The  road  became  steep  in  places  and  rough  and 
rocky.  Evidently  they  had  quit  the  pike  and 


44  NORMAN  HOLT 

were  on  some  cross-country  track.  Thick  darkness 
surrounded  them  on  every  side,  but  Norman 
drove  steadily,  confidently  on.  For  ten  minutes 
or  so  the  pace  was  slow,  the  road  tortuous. 

"Short  cut,  Norman?"  asked  Lane,  in  low  tone. 

"Yes,"  was  the  answer;  "Shelby  Gap.  Saves 
six  miles  at  least.  The  pike  goes  clear  round  the 
east  end  of  the  range." 

Dimly,  under  the  starlight  as  they  looked  about 
them  and  pulled  the  blankets  closer  as  the  air 
grew  keener,  they  could  discern  the  ghostly  shapes 
of  little  firs  and  cedars.  Sometimes  a  scrub  oak 
scraped  a  branch  or  swished  its  leaves  along  the 
wheels,  showing  how  narrow  was  the  path — a 
mere  cart  track  through  the  Gap.  There  were 
bends  and  twists  and  turns,  which  they  followed 
at  a  walk.  Thrice  on  the  northward,  downward 
slope  they  splashed  through  some  swift-running 
brook,  and,  at  last,  turning  into  a  broader  lane 
among  black  shapes  of  barns  and  corncribs,  Nor 
man  touched  up  his  team  and  again  they  bowled 
swiftly  on. 

"Shelby  Gap,  you  call  that,  Norman?"  ques 
tioned  Lane.  "That's  a  trick  worth  knowing 
when  a  man's  in  a  hurry  and  needs  the  shortest 
road.  What  I  marvel  at  is  how  you  can  follow  it 
in  such  pitchy  darkness." 

"Well,  most  of  my  life  has  been  spent,  so  far, 
riding  through  these  hills  and  dales,"  was  the 
quiet  answer.  "I  think  I  know  every  path  that 
leads  to  Asholt  or  home,  and  I  love  every  rod  of 
them.  It's  all  plain  sailing  now  from  here  to 
Bardstown,  but  I  believe  there  are  very  few  men 


A  DRIVE  IN  THE  DARK  45 

this  side  of  the  hills  who  could  guide  you  through 
them  to  our  side,  a  night  as  dark  as  this.  You 
see,  they  have  little  occasion  to  come  our  way. 
They  have  their  own  railway  into  the  Junction 
and  a  good  broad  pike  east  to  Harrodsburg  and 
Lexington.  We  are  round  on  the  other  spur  of 
the  road  with  the  hills  between  us.  There's  as 
little  going  to  and  fro  across  that  range  behind 
us  as  there  is  over  in  Cumberlands." 

"You  know  your  state  better  than  most  men 
know  their  home  city,"  said  Lane.  "May  the 
Lord  keep  Kentucky  from  the  blunders  they're 
making  farther  south!" 

"Amen!"  said  Norman,  gravely.  "With  all  his 
wrath  over  the  result  of  the  election,  father  says 
Kentucky  will  never  secede." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Malloy,  listening 
to  their  driver's  words,  interested  in  spite  of  him 
self  in  what  this  new  and  unlooked-for  possibility 
among  his  rivals  might  have  to  say,  was  yet 
thinking  how  unerringly  they  had  been  borne 
through  that  tortuous  gap  to  the  open  skies  and 
beaten  roads  of  the  northern  side.  Now,  at  the 
mention  of  secession  and  what  might  be  the  result, 
he  waited,  expectant.  There  was  something  he 
much  wished  to  know,  but  silence  again  fell  upon 
the  party.  Malloy  then  bent  forward  and  broke 
it  with  a  significant  query. 

"And  if  Kentucky  should  secede,  I  suppose 
every  good  Kentuckian  would  go  with  her?" 

There  was  something  perilously  like  a  faint 
sneer  in  the  tone— something,  at  all  events,  that 
Lane  himself  noted  with  repugnance,  and  that 


46  NORMAN  HOLT 

stirred  Norman  Holt  almost  as  did  the  words 
of  the  cadet  lieutenant  he  had  challenged  and 
fought  not  three  months  agone — something  almost 
like  a  "dare,"  that  in  boyhood  days  every  lad  of 
spirit  so  surely  resented.  Moreover,  to  the  sensi 
tive  borderer,  Southern  in  temperament,  sympa 
thies,  and  mode  of  life,  yet  devoted  to  the  Union 
of  states  and  loyal  to  the  flag,  the  question 
meant  far  more.  It  involved  infinitely  graver  sac 
rifices,  whichever  way  the  decision  went,  than  was 
the  case  with  those  whose  homes  were  farther 
north  or  south— whose  associations,  therefore, 
were  either  one  thing  or  the  other,  who  could 
be  in  act  and  word  either  all  Northern  or  all 
Southern  without  the  loss  of  a  single  friend  or 
dollar.  It  seemed  to  him,  and  it  seemed  to  Lane 
that,  in  the  momentous  nature  of  the  question  at 
issue  and  the  solemnity  of  the  situation,  only  in 
awe  and  among  intimates  should  it  be  discussed. 
Well  and  long  as  Lane  had  known  Dr.  Holt,  not 
once  during  the  visit  had  he  permitted  himself  to 
hint  at  the  topic  that  he  could  not  but  see  was 
giving  his  host  the  keenest,  most  painful  anxiety. 
Yet  here  was  a  young  alien,— so  to  speak,  a  stran 
ger  to  the  soil,  and,  up  to  within  forty-eight 
hours,  to  both  father  and  son,— who  did  not  hesi 
tate,  as  he  flicked  the  ashes  of  his  cigar,  to  call 
upon  the  Kentuckian  for  an  avowal  of  his  inten 
tions.  Time  had  been  in  the  recent  past  when 
Lane,  journeying  in  the  South,  found  himself 
"getting  hot  under  the  collar"  when  some  total 
stranger  on  steamboat,  train,  or  hotel  veranda, 
would  range  alongside  and,  occasional^  with 


A  DRIVE  IN  THE  DARK  47 

menace  in  look  or  tone,  demand,  "What  are  your 
politics?"  But  this  came  never  from  men  of  edu 
cation  or  social  standing  in  the  South.  Now,  a 
man  who  mingled,  however  undeserving,  with  the 
best  in  Ohio  society  sought  to  probe  the  politics 
of  one  whose  name  and  lineage  were  of  the  best 
in  Kentucky.  Lane  and  Holt  senior  were  men 
who  held  a  man's  politics  to  be  as  sacred  as  his 
religion,  so  grave,  so  solemn  were  the  issues  of 
the  day.  Lane  would  have  checked  the  questioner 
could  he  have  foreseen  the  question,  for  in  no 
man's  eyes  was  Malloy  so  eager  to  appear  unim 
peachable.  But  here  was  opportunity  to  em 
barrass,  annoy,  perhaps  damage  a  rival  in  the 
estimate  of  the  father  of  the  girl  whose  favor  he 
would  win,  and  the  eager  boxer  forgot  his  guard 
in  the  greed  to  strike  a  blow. 

For  an  instant  there  was  no  answer.  The 
words  that  would  have  sprung  to  Norman's  lips— 
a  rebuke  to  the  impertinence  of  the  stranger- 
were  stifled  by  the  instant  awakening  of  the 
thought  that  this  was  still  Belleview's  guest. 
The  laws  of  Kentucky  hospitality  forbade  re 
sentment  of  an  act  or  word  of  him  who  came 
accredited  to  a  Kentucky  fireside.  The  silence 
was  so  marked,  so  long,  that  in  a  sense  of  eager 
triumph  Malloy  was  on  the  point  of  persisting  in 
his  question  when  Norman  spoke:— 

"It  will  be  time  enough  for  us  to  say— when 
Kentucky  has  decided.  Mr.  Lane,  can  you  see  the 
time  by  your  watch?" 

"At  all  events,"  persisted  Malloy,  chafing  under 
the  implied  rebuke,  "your  state's  decision  involves 


48  NORMAN  HOLT 

yours.  That  you  probably  admit,"  and  he  turned 
significantly  to  the  lawyer  as  though  demanding 
that  he  note  the  point.  It  surprised  him  to  see 
that  Lane  busied  himself  almost  ostentatiously 
with  the  watch,  as  though  he  would  not  listen. 

"Can  you  strike  a  match,  Mr.  Malloy?"  asked 
the  lawyer,  adding  instantly,  "How  far  from 
Bardstown  now,  Norman?' '  and  Malloy  was  again 
rebuffed.  He  found  and  struck  a  match. 

"Almost  five,"  continued  Lane.  "We'll  make  it 
easily,  won't  we?" 

"By  over  an  hour.  There'll  be  abundant  time 
for  breakfast,"  answered  Norman.  Then,  before 
Malloy  could  again  return  to  the  attack,  Holt 
half  turned,  looking  over  his  left  shoulder,  and 
deliberately  said:  "Kentucky's  decision  involves 
rather  more  than  you  imagine,  Mr.  Malloy,  so 
say  our  elders  and  advisers,  and  they  also  coun 
sel — silence." 

There  was  no  handshake  between  the  younger 
men  at  the  railway  station  that  frosty  morning. 
Lane  noted  that  Norman  purposely  avoided  Mal 
loy,  who,  for  his  part,  was  pondering  over  the 
words  and  treasuring  them  and  the  events  of  that 
night  ride  for  future  use  against  his  adversary, 
even  though  little  dreaming  what  opportunity 
that  future  might  speedily  bring  forth. 


CHAPTER  IV 
FLAG  OR  FAMILY 

April  had  come,  soft  and  balmy,  over  the  Ken 
tucky  shores.  Birds  and  buds  and  even  blossoms 
were  everywhere  along  the  lower  Ohio,  sweeping, 
bankful,  to  its  confluence  with  the  Mississippi. 
Nature  spoke  in  the  carol  of  song  birds  of  joy, 
peace  and  plenty,  yet  there  came  dread  and  omen 
in  every  day's  dispatches  from  the  capital.  There 
were  days  when  no  dispatches  came  from  the 
massive  fortress  in  Charleston  harbor,  where  the 
flag  still  floated  though  menaced  by  scores  of  hos 
tile  guns.  All  over  the  South  the  war  spirit  was 
rampant.  The  seceding  states  had  chosen  a  presi 
dent  and  congress  of  their  own,  and  designated 
Montgomery  as  their  capital.  Tennessee  and  Ken 
tucky  were  torn  with  conflicting  loves  and  duties. 
Brother  was  divided  against  brother.  Wise  men 
prayed  and  women  wept  in  fear  of  the  coming 
storm.  It  was  the  matter  of  but  a  moment  to 
decide  which  side  to  take,  save  in  these  fair  lands 
along  the  dividing  line.  There  were  men  by 
hundreds  even  north  of  the  Ohio,  yet  close  to  the 
Kentucky  shore,  who  could  not  hide  their  sympa 
thy  for  the  South,  so  long  had  Southern  views 
and  leaders  dominated  the  great  political  party 
that,  almost  universal  now  throughout  "the 
4? 


60  NORMAN  HOLT 

states  in  rebellion,"  was  omnipotent  in  the  great 
cities  of  the  North,  where  were  herded  the  mass 
of  foreign-born  voters,  untaught,  unthinking.  It 
was  in  the  farm,  the  village,  the  workshop,  the 
factory,  one  read  devotion  as  undivided  to  the 
cause  of  union  and  universal  liberty  as  was  the 
sentiment  throughout  the  South  in  favor  of  slav 
ery.  No  need  to  go  into  details !  In  every  town 
and  village  throughout  the  Southern  states  men 
were  mustering  for  military  duty.  In  just  a  few 
of  the  larger  cities  of  the  North  there  was  renewed 
activity  among  the  uniformed  and  organized 
militia.  New  companies  met  with  discourage 
ment,  however,  at  the  start.  "No  arms  are  to  be 
had  from  the  general  government,"  was  the 
reply  from  each  state  capital.  It  transpired  that 
for  long  months  previous  an  astute  War  Secretary, 
the  Virginia  Democrat  our  peppery  Kentucky 
ex- Whig  so  longed  to  perforate,  had  been  shipping 
southward  cannon,  small  arms,  and  cartridges 
by  the  carload,  until  Northern  arsenals  were 
stripped. 

It  was  in  the  cities  close  to  Mason  and  Dixon's 
line  and  north  of  the  border  that,  emulating  the 
activity  shown  in  the  Southern  states,  the  young 
men  organized  for  drill,  and  as  early  as  February 
there  had  been  formed  in  Cincinnati  a  company  of 
youths  not  yet  twenty-one,  who  called  themselves 
the  Anderson  Cadets,  and  at  one  of  their  February 
meetings  there  had  been  inscribed  on  their  rolls 
the  name  of  Norman  M.  Holt.  All  they  knew  of 
him  at  first  -was  that  he  was  younger  brother 
of  Henry  C.  Holt,  recently  admitted  to  partner- 


FLAG  OR  FAMILY.  51 

ship  with  Mr.  Lane,  in  the  old-established  firm  of 
Mclntyre  &  Lane.  Judge  Mclntyre,  long  an  honor 
to  the  bench,  would  never  sit  in  judgment  on 
another  case.  With  affairs  strangely,  some  said 
hopelessly,  entangled,  and  after  a  sudden  and  seri 
ous  illness  that  left  him  prostrate  for  nearly  a 
month,  the  Judge  had  retired  from  duty  and  from 
all  active  participation  in  the  affairs  of  the  firm. 
It  was  understood  that  under  the  care  and  guid 
ance  of  his  brother-in-law,  Dr.  Holt,  of  Belle  view, 
he  had  been  taken  to  New  Orleans  and  thence 
to  Havana,  in  the  hope  that  rest  and  change 
would  at  least  partially  restore  him. 

It  was  rumored  that  the  master  of  Belleview 
had  been  compelled  to  make  not  a  few  sacrifices 
to  meet  the  demands  that  came  suddenly  upon 
him,  and  that  Mclntyre  had  managed  the  affairs 
of  his  brother-in-law  as  badly  as  he  had  bungled 
his  own,  but,  as  no  word  of  complaint  was  ever 
heard,  few  men  cared  to  question.  Certain  fine 
hunters  and  road  animals  had  been  sold  from  the 
Belleview  stables.  Certain  offers  had  been  made 
for  certain  of  the  doctor's  "niggers,"  as  the  chat 
tels  were  orally  referred  to.  But  Holt  had  never 
yet  bought  or  sold  human  flesh.  The  law  made 
the  negroes  of  Belleview  his  property,  and  thus 
far  it  had  been  lucky  for  them.  It  cost  him  more 
to  feed,  clothe,  and  care  for  them  than  as  servants 
or  helpers  they  were  worth. 

There  were  dozens  more  than  he  could  ever  have 
used.  Neighbors  said  they  were  eating  the  doctor 
out  of  house  and  home  and  stealing  him  poor. 
But  they  did  not  say  so  to  him.  Life  at  Belleview 


52  NORMAN  HOLT 

had  been  something  almost  patriarchal,  but 
Belleview,  all  but  the  kitchens  and  quarters  and 
a  portion  of  the  kennel  and  stables,  was  now 
closed  to  the  world.  The  master  had  gone  with 
the  stricken  brother  of  the  woman  he  had  so 
devotedly,  passionately  loved.  Henry,  his  first 
born,  was  practicing  as  a  junior  partner  in  the 
old  firm,  and  Norman,  glad  to  be  in  Cincinnati 
on  any  plea,  had  begun  the  study  of  law  under 
Lane's  own  guidance,  with  Lane's  own  son  for 
chum  and  companion.  Belleview  had  been  left  to 
the  care  of  the  overseer  and  his  family,  to  Hark- 
less  and  a  host  of  triflers. 

With  graver  face,  yet  with  hopeful  spirit,  Nor 
man  Holt  had  begun  his  work.  The  dreams  of 
squiredom  and  luxurious  ease  in  which  the  fond 
old  father  had  indulged  were  all  dispelled.  In 
sad  confidence  he  had  confessed  to  his  sons  that 
more  than  half  his  means  had  been  swept  away, 
and  that  their  allowance  would  be  stinted.  Henry 
was  for  turning  over  all  to  Norman.  Even  his 
small  interest  in  the  business  would  be  enough  for 
him,  but  Norman  would  not  listen.  They  took 
rooms  and  board  together  in  a  quiet  section  of 
the  city,  and,  keeping  their  own  counsel  as  to  the 
estate,  went  sturdily  to  work. 

But  with  his  twenty-first  birthday  close  at 
hand,  Norman  Holt  was  facing  more  than  one  most 
serious  problem.  When  first  he  looked  into  the 
face  of  Daisy  Lane  he  had  every  reason  to  believe 
that  from  his  mother's  fortune  alone  there  would 
come  to  him  enough  to  make  him  independent. 
His  father  had  so  assured  him  when  he  insisted 


FLAG  OR  FAMILY  53 

upon  his  withdrawal  from  West  Point.  It  had 
been  assiduously  watched  and  cared  for  many 
a  long  year  by  Judge  Mclntyre.  Now  as  the 
winter  began  to  wane  Norman  realized  that  the 
fortune  was  gone  and  that  his  father's  wealth 
was  mainly  in  negroes,  horses,  dogs  and  Belle- 
view,— property  that  consumed  far  more  than  it 
produced.  It  fell  upon  him  with  almost  brutal 
force  that,  besides  an  honored  name,  he  would 
have  next  to  nothing  to  offer  the  girl  he  loved, 
and  love  Daisy  Lane  he  knew  he  did  with  all 
the  strength  of  his  heart,  now  torn  with  jealous 
dread  and  sore  dismay.  Lane,  too,  had  suffered 
through  his  partner's  ill-starred  ventures,  and 
it  had  made  him  silent,  reserved,  even  at  times 
morose. 

There  was  something  more  than  mere  misman 
agement  behind  it  all,  was  Henry's  reluctant 
admission.  Mclntyre,  in  the  height  of  fame  and 
fortune,  had  taken  Lane  by  the  hand,  lifted  him 
from  the  bottom  rung  of  the  ladder  well  up  to 
ward  the  top,  and  though  the  later  fall  had 
only  been  a  few  feet,  it  counted  more  with  Lane 
against  his  broken  benefactor  than  the  contempla 
tion  of  the  benefits  he  had  received  at  his  hands. 
Indeed,  if  Lane  had  not  long  begun  to  think  that 
it  was  his  own  brains  and  energy  that  made  the 
reputation  of  the  firm,  he  was  a  rank  exception 
to  the  rule.  He  loved  money.  He  had  known 
what  it  was  to  be  poor  and  struggling.  H~  liked 
the  doctor's  lads  and  liked  them  well,  but  that 
•was  before  it  dawned  upon  him  that  the  firm 
must  open  its  doors  to  both,  and  not  as  clients 


54,  NORMAN  HOLT 

or  contributors.  He  was  a  good  husband,  a  fond 
father,  a  "square"  man  and  citizen,  a  genial  friend 
and  companion,  too,  when  there  was  no  especial 
tax  on  that  friendship.  But  Lane  was  one  of  the 
last  men  in  his  line  of  business  whom  those  keen 
students  of  human  nature,  the  would-be  borrow 
ers,  would  think  to  ask  for  aid. 

He  had  watched  with  jealous  dread  the  growing 
ascendency  over  his  senior  of  that  upstart  Malloy. 
He  only  vaguely  dreamed  how  deeply  Mclntyre 
was  enmeshed.  He  never  dreamed  at  all  that 
Holt's  fortune  could  be  involved,  and,  disliking 
young  Malloy,  even  while  impressed  and  influenced 
by  his  father's  wealth,  he  had  seen  with  secret 
approval  the  dawn  of  Norman  Holt's  regard  for 
his  precious  child,  had  shown  him  especial  confi 
dence  and  cordiality  during  the  few  brief  days 
at  Belle  view,  and  now  felt  it  necessary  to  be 
correspondingly  distant,  if  not,  indeed,  cold  and  at 
times  even  repellent.  This  was  the  more  difficult, 
because  Theodore,  his  first  born,  had  become 
frankly  enthusiastic  about  Norman,  and  was  for 
ever  talking  of  him  at  table,  and  would  have  had 
him  perpetually  in  the  house,  where  indeed  Nor 
man's  inclination  would  perpetually  have  led  him ; 
but  unerringly  the  latter  noted  the  father's  change 
of  manner,  and,  although  hurt  and  almost  indig 
nant,  he  was  an  introspective,  sensitive  fellow  for 
his  years,  given  to  self-examination  and  to  study 
ing  both  sides  of  a  question.  He  knew  that, 
having  as  yet  offered  nothing  and  having  now 
nothing  to  offer,  he  should  not  stand  between  her 
and  those  who  might  come  laden  with  love  and 


FLAG  OR  FAMILY  55 

gifts.  Moreover,  it  was  next  to  impossible  to  go 
there  in  the  evening  and  not  find  Malloy — Malloy, 
whose  manner  conveyed  too  much  of  self-congratu 
lation  and  obtrusive  triumph  not  to  be  hateful 
in  a  rival's  sight.  And  then,  again,  Henry  had 
spoken.  He,  too,  had  disliked  Malloy.  He  had 
heard  Kate  Ray  and  her  mother  refer  to  him  in 
terms  so  guarded  that  he  felt  there  was  some 
thing  much  amiss,  and  Kate  Ray  was  a  girl  to 
win  whose  good  opinion  the  elder  brother  would 
have  walked  to  Lexington  often  as  he  longed  to 
ride  thither,  which  was  every  day  of  the  week. 
Never  doubt  she  knew  it— had  seen  it  for  a  year 
or  more,  but  she  had  known  him  from  her  earliest 
childhood,  and  girls  seldom  fall  in  love  with  men 
they  know  so  well.  She  used  to  visit  Cincinnati 
for  a  few  weeks  every  winter,  and  now  found 
reason  to  decline.  She  had  striven  to  make  him 
understand,  but  he  would  not  be  daunted.  She 
was  angry  when  he  stole  that  kiss,  yet  it 
was  anger  at  herself  only.  She  wished  him  to 
know  he  should  not  have  sought  it.  She  had 
thought  twice,  thrice  of  telling  her  mother  she 
ought  not  to  go  to  Belleview,  even  to  welcome 
Norman,  but  the  mother  had  set  her  heart  upon 
it.  She  had  heard  of  young  Malloy,  while  in 
Cincinnati,  and  heard  of  associations  that  made 
her  marvel  he  could  set  foot  within  the  doors  of 
Belleview,  but  here  again  was  the  Kentucky  code. 
Malloy  was  there  and  well  accredited.  He  was 
the  doctor's  guest,  and,  even  to  Henry,  who 
appealed  to  her,  she  shut  her  lips  as  to  anything 
she  knew  against  him.  From  her  and  from  others 


56  NORMAN  HOLT 

whom  he  knew  in  Cincinnati,  Henry  could  learn 
nothing  to  Malloy's  disadvantage,  save  that  he 
was  his  father's  son,  and  had  some  time  since 
been  somewhat  wild.  Now,  with  abundant  means 
he  was  welcomed  in  many  houses.  He  would 
have  a  luxurious  home.  He  was  an  undoubted 
"catch"  for  -whom  many  mammas  were  angling. 
Why  shouldn't  Lane  listen  to  him  as  a  suitor  for 
his  daughter's  hand?  Henry  did  not  tell  Norman 
he  himself  was  "lasslorn,"  but  he  gravely  bade 
him  look  the  situation  in  the  face  and  ask  himself 
if  it  were  not  wise  to  avoid  the  flame.  He  was 
surprised  when  Norman,  though  with  averted 
eyes,  simply  replied,  "I  have." 

"I  was  afraid  Theodore  might  tempt  you  there 
oftener  than  was  wise,"  said  Henry  kindly.  He 
knew  the  lads  were  much  together.  What  he  did 
not  know  was  that,  had  Theodore  his  way,  there 
were  places  far  apart  from  home  whither  he 
would  for  a  time  at  least  have  tempted  his  new 
friend,  whither  before  very  long  he  wished  he 
had  not  done  so:  It  was  only  teaching  Nor 
man  the  path  to  find  him  and  to  bear  him 
away  from  scenes  of  sin  that  would  have  turned 
his  mother  white  with  dread  did  she  but  dream 
of  them. 

It  was  to  wean  him  from  this  craze  as  much 
as  anything  that  Norman  welcomed  the  new  dis 
traction,  the  Anderson  Cadets.  Theo  had  been 
urged  to  join.  "I'll  do  it  if  you  will,"  he  finally 
said,  and  then  within  a  week  the  company  dis 
covered  that  there  was  a  quiet  young  fellow,  a 
soldier  in  every  step  and  attitude,  who  knew  more 


FLAG  OR  FAMILY  57 

about  drills,  tactics,  and  the  like  than  "Cap" 
could  ever  hope  to.  They  made  the  tall  Kentuck- 
ian  first  sergeant  at  the  end  of  the  fortnight,  and 
captain  the  end  of  the  month,  for  the  original 
organizer  resigned  in  a  huff.  The  fame  of  the  boy 
officer's  skill  and  ability  went  abroad  among  the 
local  militia,  and  the  drill  room  of  the  cadets 
became  the  rendezvous  for  enthusiasts  of  other 
and  older  commands,  notably  the  Guthrie  Grays. 
The  boys  were  drilling  with  an  old  weapon 
known  at  the  time  as  the  musquetoon,  a  short- 
barrelled,  smooth-bored  cross  between  a  blunder 
buss  and  a  gas  pipe,  that  fired  a  bullet  as  big  as 
an  egg,  but  could  never  vouch  for  its  billet.  It 
was  fitted  with  a  bayonet  nearly  double  the 
usual  length,  and  unfitted  for  service  of  any 
kind  other  than  learning  the  ' 'manual."  Theo 
declared  at  home  that  in  less  than  three  months 
Norman  would  make  that  company  the  best 
drilled  in  the  world,  and  urged  the  elders  and 
Daisy  to  come  and  see  the  flag  presentation  that 
was  to  occur  the  first  week  in  April,  when  the 
cadets  were  to  appear  for  the  first  time  in  their 
full-dress  uniform,  and  Norman  was  to  make  the 
speech  of  acceptance. 

State  Senator  Malloy  had  been  one  of  the  heavi 
est  subscribers  to  the  uniform  fund  and  for  the 
beautiful  flag,  heavily  embroidered  with  gold  and 
silk,  already  on  exhibition  in  the  show  window 
of  a  famous  shop  on  Fourth  street.  Young  Mal 
loy,  older  by  four  years  than  twenty-one,  had 
been  one  of  the  original  members,  and  a  sergeant 
at  the  time  Holt  and  Lane  were  elected.  It  had 


08  NORMAN  HOLT 

occurred  to  him  that  it  might  not  be  a  bad  thing 
to  have  Norman  Holt  in  the  ranks,  where  he 
could  order  him  about,  or  Theodore,  where  he 
could  show  favor.  It  had  not  occurred  to  him 
that  the  company  would  speedily  place  Holt  at 
the  head  of  the  list  of  sergeants  and  give  him  that 
conspicuous  position  universally  referred  to  in 
those  days  outside  of  the  regular  service  as  "  or 
derly,"  which  meant  a  very  different  thing. 

He  was  prompt  to  act,  however,  and  without 
loss  of  prestige.  The  "Emmet  Guards,"  attached 
as  Company  "C"  to  a  Cincinnati  regiment,  were 
divided  among  themselves,  as  are  apt  to  be  the 
Green  Islanders  with  no  common  foe  in  sight,  and 
the  question  at  issue  was  the  choice  of  a  first 
lieutenant.  Father  and  son  held  a  brief  conference, 
and  the  former  opened  his  views — and  pocket- 
book — to  the  leaders  of  both  sides  in  the  Emmets, 
with  the  result  that  the  Enquirer  announced  one 
morning  in  March  that  "the  breach  between  the 
opposing  factions  in  the  Emmet  Guards  has  been 
most  happily  healed  by  the  "withdrawal  of  both 
candidates  in  favor  of  Mr.  J.  Burnett  Malloy, 
only  son  of  the  distinguished  citizen  and  Senator, 
the  Hon.  T.  Martin  Malloy,  who  was  almost 
unanimously  elected  first  lieutenant  at  last  night's 
meeting.  Mr.  Malloy  has  been  conspicuous  in  the 
organization  and  instruction  of  the  Anderson 
Cadets,  in  which  somewhat  exclusive  corps  he 
holds  the  rank  of  sergeant,  and  is  looked  upon  as 
one  of  the  most  brilliant  and  capable  officers  on 
their  rolls.  So  much  so,  indeed,  that  much  sur 
prise,  not  to  say  unfavorable  comment,  has  been 


FLAG  OR  FAMILY  59 

excited  by  the  recent  action  of  the  cadets  in  se 
lecting  a  stranger  to  the  community  for  the  most 
responsible  office  and  setting  him  over  the  head 
of  so  capital  a  soldier  as  Mr.  Malloy.  The 
Emmets  seem  to  be  made  of  'sterner  stuff,'  and 
their  prompt  tender  of  honorable  promotion  to 
the  stone  the  builder  rejected  carries  with  it 
something  of  merited  rebuke  to  the  fledgling  com 
mand  of  society  pets." 

Of  course,  Mr.  Malloy  assured  his  comrades  of 
the  cadets  that  the  honor  was  as  unsought  as 
the  newspaper  fling  was  uninspired  by  anything 
he  had  said  or  thought.  He  gave  a  supper  to 
certain  of  his  clique  in  the  boy  company  and  "set 
up"  the  cigars  and  other  accompaniments  for  the 
Emmets,  and  was  present,  in  a  very  becoming 
and  stunning  new  uniform  and  sword  (the  latter 
hooked  up  wrong  side  before),  the  night  of  the 
flag  presentation  to  the  cadets.  Remarkably  neat, 
trim,  and  natty  looked  these  young  gentlemen 
in  their  new  gray ' 'regimentals,"  and  very  soldierly 
was  their  tall  young  captain.  But  when  the 
crowd  began  to  gather  and  it  devolved  on  him 
to  aid  in  seating  the  many  women  who  came 
smiling  to  do  honor  to  the  occasion,  he  became 
palpably  nervous.  Lieutenant  Malloy,  as  was  to 
be  expected,  flashed  hither  and  yon  very  much  at 
home,  and  when  the  floor  was  cleared,  and  the 
company  formed,  and  a  venerable  citizen  and 
jurist  appeared  in  their  midst,  the  beautiful  flag 
in  hand,  a  body  of  prominent  citizens  at  his  back, 
the  lieutenant  of  the  Emmets  took  post  by  the 
side  of  Miss  Lane,  whose  cheeks  were  flushing 


m  NORMAN  HOLT 

with  excitement  and  delight  (of  seeing  Theodore 
in  his  corporal's  chevrons,  no  doubt).  Silence  fell 
on  the  assembly  as  the  Judge  began  his  ringing 
address,  full  of  lofty  patriotism  and  concluding 
with  a  thrilling  perorativ.t>  in  which  he  dwelt 
upon  the  dangers  that  menaced  that  very  flag, 
and  the  beloved  land  of  which  it  was  the  symbol, 
and  the  heroic  veteran  whose  name  they  bore 
now  penned  in  a  fortress  menaced  by  rebel  guns— 
finally  calling  on  one  and  all  to  declare  their 
undying  devotion  to  the  flag  and  the  cause  it 
stood  for,  and  was  rewarded  by  resounding 
acclamations  and  tumultuous  applause  as  he 
placed  the  sacred  emblem  in  the  hands  of  the 
blushing  captain,  who,  with  his  sixty  brave  lads 
in  gray,  had  shouted  loud  the  "Aye"  that  pledged 
them  to  its  service. 

Then,  as  silence  fell  upon  the  assemblage  again, 
Norman,  with  all  the  color  gone  from  his  face, 
began  almost  inaudibly,  stammered,  then  blushed, 
became  utterly  confused,  and  finally  fairly  broke 
down  in  his  speech,  and  with  a  few  incoherencies 
called  forth  the  colorbearer,  gave  over  the  flag  to 
him,  and  fell  back  abashed  and  dismayed. 

True,  the  Andersons  cheered  and  the  crowd 
clapped  and  hurrahed  to  assure  him  of  confidence 
and  sympathy.  True,  in  handling  the  company 
later  in  a  dashing  drill  of  half  an  hour,  Norman 
was  himself  again,  and  his  ringing  voice  and 
splendid  bearing  showed,  as  many  a  soldier  has 
showed,  that  though  speechmaking  wasn't  his 
forte,  he  was  yet  a  leader  of  men.  That  part  of 
the  proceeding  was  not  referred  to  in  the  news- 


FLAG  OR  FAMILY  tfll 

paper  account  of  the  affair.  A  collation  was 
served  before  the  drill,  and  many  people  left  im 
mediately  after  that.  Daisy  and  her  mother  sought 
to  stay,  as  Theo  had  urged  them,  but  Mr.  Lane 
had  business  awaiting  him  at  his  library.  Mr. 
Malloy  had  heard  that  "the  drill  was  to  be  aban 
doned,  as  the  captain  seemed  to  be  somewhat 
overcome — had  lost  his  head  in  fact,  and  the  boys 
were  already  beginning  to  repent  them  of  their 
error. "  Indeed,  there  were  boys  who  thought 
that  breakdown  ignominious.  They  little  knew 
the  emotions  warring  in  the  heart  of  the 
young  soldier,  as  he  strove  to  speak,  with  his 
brother's  stern,  sad,  white  face  confronting  him 
in  the  heart  of  the  throng,  with  Henry's  dark 
eyes  fixed  almost  in  menace  upon  him.  More 
than  that,  close  by  Henry's  side  stood  two  young 
men,  who,  a  few  months  back,  were  Norman's 
friends  and  classmates  in  the  battalion  of  cadets 
at  the  Point — two  young  men,  who,  with  others 
from  the  seceding  states,  had  tossed  their  war 
rants  to  the  winds,  torn  off  the  uniform  of  the 
national  academy,  and,  quitting  it  forever,  were 
now  on  their  way  to  unite  their  fortunes  with 
those  of  friends  and  kindred  in  the  South— to  join 
in  armed  assault  upon  the  very  flag  Norman  this 
night  of  nights  was  swearing  to  defend  "against 
all  enemies  or  opposers  whomsoever." 

"Are  you  conscious  what  it  means,  Norman? 
Do  you  realize  you  are  pledging  your  services 
against  your  own  people,  your  home,  your  estate, 
your  fortune?"  This  was  the  solemn  question 
Henry  put  to  him  as  late  that  night  the  brothers 


62  NORMAN  HOLT 

walked  to  their  distant  lodging  after  the  sad, 
constrained  good-by  between  him  and  his  former 
cadet  comrades.  "Moreover,  do  you  not  know 
that  in  the  event  of  war  between  the  sections  our 
father  will  surely  take  sides  with  the  South?" 

"Even  if  the  state  refuse  to  secede,  as  she  has 
thus  far?"  queried  the  younger. 

"Even  if  she  refuse,"  was  the  firm  reply.  "Nor 
man,  this  idea  that  Kentucky  can  remain  neutral 
is  absurd.  Sooner  or  later  we  shall  be  drawn  in, 
and  men  must  decide  and  determine  quickly.  I 
hate  to  see  the  Union  breaking,  but  the  break  has 
more  than  begun.  It  is  an  accomplished  fact. 
That  man  at  Washington  has  said  one  true  thing 
at  least:  'This  nation  cannot  live  half  slave, 
half  free.'  Now,  the  Ohio  is  the  natural  dividing 
line.  All  our  tastes  and  sympathies  are  with  the 
united  South.  Thousands  of  Northerners  are  with 
us  too.  They  are  divided  against  themselves. 
We  shall  have  a  new  nation — a  new  South.  I  see 
it  coming  as  sure  as  the  sun,  and  I  shall  stand 
with  our  father  and  our  friends,  Norman,  and  so 
will  you.  No  wonder  you  broke  down  to-night !" 

"Do  you  mean— you—and  father— or  Kentucky, 
for  that  matter,  would  fight  against  that  flag?" 
asked  the  younger,  in  amaze. 

"God  forbid!  I'm  for  setting  it  up  in  every 
state  capital  throughout  the  South.  It  isn't  the 
flag  of  the  North,  man !  It's  as  much  the  South's 
as  theirs.  It's  the  flag  of  the  whole  country— 
the  united  nation." 

"That's  just  it,"  was  the  instant  answer,  as 
Norman  turned  and  looked  his  brother  in  the  face. 


FLAG  OR  FAMILY  63 

"The  united  nation,  but  when  you  pull  away  from 
the  Union  you  can't  take  its  flag  with  you.  You 
can't  even  scratch  out  one  star.  It  was  the 
South's  as  much  as  the  North's  until  they  quit. 
It  is  Kentucky's  so  long  as  she  doesn't  quit ;  and, 
until  she  does  quit,  at  least,  it's  mine,  too,  and 
by  heaven,  I'll  stick  to  it!" 

"Then  suppose  you  are  ordered  to  march  south 
and  make  war  on  your  kindred.  Already  they 
are  talking  at  Washington  of  'coercing'  them  in 
again,"  said  Henry. 

"Just  as  in  Alabama  and  Mississippi  they  talk 
of  coercing  Kentucky  out.  Which  is  worse?"  was 
the  spirited  rejoinder. 

They  had  reached  the  door  of  the  modest  lodg 
ing  they  had  taken  toward  the  East  End.  Late 
as  it  was,  a  light  was  burning  in  the  hall,  and 
a  voice  hailed  them  from  over  the  balusters  of 
the  second  floor.  "There's  a  telegram  just  come 
for  Mr.  Henry.  I  put  it  on  the  mantel  in  your 
room."  Then  the  speaker  chastely  vanished  and 
the  brothers  hurried  aloft.  There  was  the  fateful 
message,  dated  New  Orleans.  "Your  uncle  worse. 
Coming  home  by  river.  Should  reach  Belle  view 
via  Louisville  about  15th.  Both  meet  us." 

About  the  fifteenth,  and  here  it  was  the  sixth! 
"I  can  go,"  said  Norman  briefly.  "I  must  go," 
said  Henry.  "Father  evidently  needs  us.  Perhaps 
he  fears  the  worst.  Now,  Norman,  is — is  not 
this — a  favorable  opportunity — a  good  excuse?" 

"For  what?"  was  the  question  as  the  younger 
turned  sharply  on  the  elder  man. 

"For  your  resignation." 


•4  NORMAN  HOLT 

"I  have  resigned  once,  in  six  months,  at  father's 
demand,  and  regret  it  bitterly  already.  I  shall 
not  resign  again,  Henry,  until  I  have  far  graver 


reason." 


"Then  even  before  you  can  see  father  again  you 
may  be  ordered— on  active  duty,  Norman." 

"And  if  I  am— I'll  obey." 

One  week  later  the  North  took  fire  with  the 
news  that  South  Carolina  had  opened  the  ball— 
Sumter  had  fallen — the  beloved  flag  was  humbled 
in  the  dust— the  President  had  called  for  75,000 
men  to  defend  the  capital,  and  Henry  Holt  went 
back  to  his  native  state  alone. 


CHAPTBK? 

SOLDIER  IN  SPITE  OF  ALL. 

Away  in  Western  Virginia,  with  the  bold  heights 
of  the  Alleghanies  at  their  back,  a  fair,  winding 
river  at  their  feet,  a  little  column  of  Union  troops 
had  halted  on  their  homeward  way.  The  fierce 
excitement  of  the  first  few  weeks  of  the  great 
war  had  settled  down  to  a  tense,  silent  strain. 
Bull  Run  had  taught  an  impatient  and  importu 
nate  public  one  valuable  lesson,  and  the  yell  of 
"On  to  Richmond!'*  had  given  place  to  "Look 
out  for  Washington !"  The  75,000  summoned  for 
the  defense  of  the  capital  were  being  rapidly  re 
placed  by  regiments  enlisted  for  " three  years  or  the 
war."  Many  of  the  so-called  "three  months*  men" 
— militia  regiments  accepted  at  the  first  alarm- 
were  now  returning  to  reorganize  for  further 
service,  and  among  them  was  Ohio's  first  tender. 
With  the  Grays  as  its  nucleus  the  gallant  regiment 
had  been  promptly  recruited  to  the  maximum  and 
whirled  away  to  the  front,  had  done  its  full  share 
in  the  strange,  unaccustomed  service  that  befell  it, 
and  now,  with  wiser  heads,  was  beginning  to 
discuss  the  possibilities  of  the  future.  Many 
changes  would  be  wrought  in  its  personnel.  The 
colonel  had  got  his  stars  and  gone  to  Washington. 
The  lieutenant  colonel  was  hoping  for  the  eagles 
5 


6€  NORMAN  HOLT 

and  supreme  command.  One  major  and  two 
captains  expected,  and  six  at  least  hoped  for, 
promotion.  Others  were  to  drop  out.  One  or 
two  of  the  officers  had  been  dropped.  Others 
might  follow.  Those  men  who  were  to  re-enlist 
would  have  a  powerful  influence  in  the  selection 
of  the  company  officers,  at  least,  and  many  a 
plot  had  been  hatched,  many  a  plan  well  laid, 
even  before  they  sighted  again  and  greeted  with 
glad  cheers  the  beautiful  Ohio,  the  Belle  Riviere 
the  voyageurs  so  aptly  named.  With  two  officers 
whose  names  were  daily  on  the  tongue  of  almost 
every  man  in  Company  "C,"  ycleped  the  Emmets 
when  they  were  at  home,  our  story  has  much  to 
do.  The  first  in  order  of  rank,  their  first  lieuten 
ant,  not  being  on  hand  to  speak  for  himself,  was 
not  too  well  spoken  of,  now  that  their  brief  term 
had  expired  and  they  were  free  to  talk  at  all. 
A  very,  very  popular  officer  was  Lieutenant 
Malloy  the  first  fortnight  of  the  war.  He  Jacked 
and  Billied  and  joked  with  the  men,  stood  treat 
on  innumerable  occasions,  and  was  cheered  and 
applauded  at  every  turn,  much  to  the  detriment 
of  good  order  and  military  discipline,  wherever  he 
went  within  the  lines. 

That  was  in  May.  On  the  other  hand,  the  tall, 
stern  young  second  lieutenant,  the  drill-master 
and  tactician  of  the  company,  with  his  somber 
eyes  and  sad,  hollow-cheeked  face,  was  the  reverse 
of  popular.  He  rarely  laughed,  he  never  treated, 
and  he  held  aloof  from  even  the  j oiliest  men  as 
though  he  were  a  superior  being.  For  a  time 
they  hated  him,  called  him  "interloper,"  "Shang- 


SOLDIER  IN  SPITE  OF  ALL  67 

hai,"  and  the  like,  but  that,  too,  was  in  May. 
They  had  elected  him  second  lieutenant  because 
their  own  couldn't  go,  and  because  everybody 
said  what  a  fine  drill  instructor  he  was.  He  had 
made  the  Anderson  Cadets  almost  perfect,  but 
they  were  too  young  to  go,  said  the  Governor. 
To  the  intense  wrath  of  the  boys,  they  could  not 
get  into  an  accepted  regiment.  The  Emmets  were 
induced  by  the  colonel,  the  major,  their  captain, 
and  the  adjutant  to  elect  that  young  Captain 
Holt  their  second  lieutenant.  They  did  it.  Thej? 
were  glad  enough  to  do  anything  to  get  away  to 
war.  "But,  Lord!"  said  Corporal  Connelly,  "if 
we'd  known  what  airs  he'd  put  on  we'd  never 
have  named  him."  But,  that,  too,  was  in  May. 
When  their  General,  however,  said  in  June  that 
the  Emmets  were  easily  the  best-drilled  company 
in  the  brigade,  the  boys  broke  forth  in  Celtic  joy, 
and  went  and  cheered  their  drillmaster,  leaving 
"Cap"  to  thank  the  General.  Then  the  Emmets 
turned  out  the  best  guard  details,  had  the  best- 
taught  sentries,  took  "orderly"  for  the  command 
ing  officer  six  times  a  week,  had,  too,  the  neatest 
tents  and  company  street — all  due  to  that  young 
expert,  although  "Cap"  willingly  accepted  the 
credit.  The  adjutant  shortly  afterward  sprained 
his  wrist,  and  the  colonel  detailed  Lieutenant 
Holt  to  act  in  his  place,  and  the  Emmets  went 
wild  again  with  delight  to  see  how  much  more 
style  and  snap  their  lieutenant  threw  into  the 
duties  of  adjutant  in  the  ceremonies  of  parade  and 
guard  mounting  than  did  the  original  incumbent, 
who  looked  on  with  clouded  eyes  and  rueful  face, 


tt*  NOKMAiS!  HOLT 

and  returned  to  duty  rather  earlier  than  the  sur* 
geon  wished.  Only  once  were  they  under  fire,  and 
then  they  made  a  prodigious  smoke  and  noise,  and 
the  commands  of  most  officers  were  inaudible,  even 
the  colonel's,  as  he  rode  raging  up  and  down  in 
the  rear  of  his  line.  But  when  skirmishers  were 
called  for,  the  "Old  Man"  designated  company 
"C,"  and  "Cap"  sent  Mr.  Holt  in  command  of  the 
line,  Mr.  Malloy  being  somewhat  indisposed,  and 
Norman's  voice  rang  over  the  field  clear  and  con- 
fident  above  the  clamor,  and  the  General  praised 
the  boy  officer,  now  just  twenty-one,  and  the 
regiment  looked  up  to  and  saluted  him  with  a 
fervor  felt  for  precious  few  of  his  seniors.  Be 
tween  the  two  lieutenants  of  Company  "C"  there 
had  been  hardly  any  intercourse.  The  breach 
widened  day  by  day,  but  after  this  episode  Malloy 
fell  really  ill — a  low  fever  of  some  kind,  and  his 
father  came  and  took  him  home  two  weeks  ahead 
of  the  regiment,  and  Norman  had  command  of  the 
Emmets  for  ten  days  while  "Cap"  was  away  sit 
ting  on  a  court-martial.  And  all  the  time  he  was 
growing  in  the  respect  and  esteem  of  the  rank 
and  file  of  the  big  regiment,  yet,  strangely,  he 
seemed  to  have  few  friends  or  associates  among 
his  brother  officers.  He  was  much  by  himself, 
writing  long  letters,  pacing  up  and  down,  lost  in 
sad  thought,  for  his  face  showed  it.  Letters  came 
for  him  frequently  at  the  outset,  letters  from  Ken 
tucky  that  were  read  with  ever-increasing  sadness 
and  despond,  but  even  these  had  ceased. 

Even  to  the  colonel,  who  had  seemed  to  take  a 
great  liking  to  him,  Norman  could  not,  or  would 


SOLDIER  IN  SPITE  OP  ALIv  39 

not,  speak  of  their  contents.  The  only  intimate 
he  had  had  in  Cincinnati  was  Henry,  his  brother, 
now  striving  to  be  neutral  at  home,  and  glorying 
in  what  he  considered  the  spirited  refusal  of 
Kentucky's  Governor  to  furnish  troops  "for  the 
wicked  purpose  of  coercing  sister  states. "  Nor 
man  had  sought  and  stood  by  Theodore  Lane,  as 
all  men  will  a  certain  girl's  brother.  Yet  Theo 
dore  had  never  won  his  confidence.  The  lad  was 
high-spirited,  impulsive,  thoughtless,  and  a  few 
months  younger  than  Norman — just  young  enough 
to  be  unable  to  enlist  without  the  parental  con- 
sent,  which,  being  refused,  compelled  him  to  stay 
wrathfully  at  home  while  Norman  was  winning 
honors,  so  at  least  the  earlier  accounts  declared; 
and  Theo,  who  had  been  Norman's  loudest  advo 
cate  and  ardent  admirer,  now  felt  those  pangs  of 
envy  that,  if  not  crushed  out,  are  apt  to  sour  the 
milk  of  human  kindness  in  weak  human  nature. 
Do  we  always  rejoice, — all  of  us,  when  friends,  and 
neighbors  we  have  fought  and  played  with  year 
after  year,  become  suddenly  famous  in  some  other 
field  where  our  names  are  unknown?  Unable  to 
share  the  honors  of  his  associates  who  had  gone 
to  the  front,  was  it  altogether  unnatural  that 
Theo  Lane  should  have  wished  that  there  had 
been  no  honors  to  speak  of?  However,  this  is  a 
story,  not  a  homily.  Theodore  Lane  was  the  first 
to  take  Malloy  by  the  hand  on  his  return,  pale, 
somewhat  thin  and  very  interesting  looking  to  the 
girls,  and  Lane  was  not  too  sorry  to  hear  from 
his  lips  that  things  were  not  all  straight  about 
Holt.  Yes,  oh  yes,  he  was  a  good  drillmaster. 


70  NORMAN  HOLT 

He  ought  to  be ;  he  had  had  exceptional  advan 
tages.  But  the  feeling  was  growing,  Malloy  spoke 
of  it  with  deep  reluctance,  that—that  Holt's 
loyalty  was  not  what  it  should  be. 

Officers  knew,  and  men  were  beginning  to 
know,  that  Holt  had  been  in  correspondence 
with  rampant  rebels.  Everybody  seemed  to  have 
heard  by  this  time  that  Dr.  Holt  was  one  of 
Governor  Magoffin's  most  trusted  and  truculent 
advisers, — that  while  he  had  opposed  secession  at 
first,  it  was  because  he  believed  Southern  rights 
could  be  obtained  and  enforced  without  it.  He 
believed  in  the  heaven-born  right  of  the  Southern 
gentleman  to  rule  the  land.  It  was  known  that 
the  doctor  and  Henry  Holt  had  been  to  Tennessee 
and  even  farther  South,  had  had  conferences  with 
Albert  Sidney  Johnston,  the  fiery  Texan  who 
was  organizing  the  Southern  forces  in  the  West. 
It  was  declared  that  a  commission  as  surgeon 
general  had  been  tendered  the  doctor  and  a  staff 
position  offered  to  his  eldest  son.  It  was  fully 
believed  in  the  regiment,  said  Malloy,  that  a 
captaincy  awaited  Norman  in  the  Confederate 
service,  and  that  he  would  have  accepted  had  his 
state  gone  with  the  rest,  as  it  might  go  any  day. 
He  was  an  unsafe  man  to  trust  with  the  sword 
of  authority.  All  this  began  to  be  whispered,  if 
not  noised  abroad,  in  Cincinnati  at  the  very  mo 
ment  the  old  regiment  was  nearing  its  home 
station  to  reorganize.  All  this  was  hinted  about 
the  homestead  of  the  Lanes,  who  were  loyal  to 
the  core,  and  there  had  already  been  a  violent 
rupture  between  the  now  senior  member  and  the 


SOLDIER  IN  SPITE  OF  ALL  71 

hot-headed  client  at  Belleview.  Lane,  at  least, 
knew  well  that  the  father  and  the  elder  son  were 
every  day  turning  more  and  more  to  the  side  of 
open  defiance  to  the  general  government,  and 
when  early  in  June  he  had  been  summoned  to 
Belleview  to  attend  the  last  solemn  rites  as  they 
laid  to  rest  the  form  of  his  old  partner  and  bene 
factor,  there  had  been  a  stormy  controversy  in 
which,  among  other  things,  Lane  was  told  that 
Norman  Holt  would  stand  exiled  and  disinherited 
if  he  did  not  quit  the  service  of  the  " Lincoln 
government"  and  return  to  his  home  and  kindred. 
No  wonder  the  lonely  soldier's  face  had  grown  sad 
and  sallow.  He  had,  indeed,  been  in  correspond 
ence  with  the  enemy,  who  had  exhausted  every 
argument,  plea,  and  threat  in  vain  efforts  to 
break  his  resolve  to  stand  steadfast  to  the  flag. 

And  that  bright  August  afternoon,  as  the  regi 
ment  halted  at  the  river  in  sight  of  the  rolling 
hills  of  their  beautiful  state,  the  men  of  the  Em 
mets  had  resolved,  with  but  half  a  dozen  excep 
tions,  to  re-enlist  on  reaching  home.  "Cap" 
should  be  re-elected.  He  was  a  father  to  them, 
an  honest  old  Irish  soldier,  who  didn't  know- 
much,  but  did  the  best  he  knew  how.  And  then, 
with  a  cheer,  they  swore  their  second  lieutenant 
should  have  a  bar  upon  his  shoulder  in  place  of 
Malloy.  That  night  a  telegram  reached  the  State 
Senator  in  Cincinnati,  which  he  gravely  read, 
then  thrust  into  his  pocket  with  a  laugh.  "They 
can  elect  whom  they  d— n  please,"  said  he,  "but 
we'll  appoint  whom  we  please." 

A  month  later  and  the  old  regiment,  reorgan- 


NOKMAN 

and  already  in  camp,  awaited  the  coming  of 
the  Governor's  secretary  with  the  commissions  of 
the  officers  duly  elected  by  the  men.  Colonel, 
field,  and  staff*  were  already  commissioned.  The 
United  States  mustering  officer  was  on  the  spot 
and  ready.  There  had  been  strange  and  un 
accountable  delay  in  sending  the  prized  parch 
ments.  The  regiment  was  urgently  needed  at  the 
front.  It  was  to  go  within  a  day  of  the  comple 
tion  of  the  muster,  and,  rumor  had  it,  to  go  to 
Kentucky,  where  the  home  guards  were  serving 
only  ten  days  at  a  time,  and  not  then  unless  they 
felt  like  it.  An  advance  into  Kentucky  on  part 
of  the  Confederates  was  imminent,  and  General 
Anderson,  commanding  "by  request  of  the  Ken 
tucky  Legislature"  at  Louisville,  was  obviously 
nervous  over  the  situation.  Kentucky  had  ob 
jected  to  the  entrance  of  Northern  troops  within 
her  borders  so  long  as  the  Confederates  kept 
beyond  the  limits,  but  there  was  her  own  son 
and  statesman,  Buckner,  commanding  a  powerful 
force  at  Camp  Boone,  just  across  the  line  in 
Tennessee,  and  if  he  were  to  leap  forward  to 
Bowling  Green,  what  then?  Whole  families  said, 
"Join  him!"  Whole  familes  said,  "Fight  him!" 
Other  families,  divided  against  themselves,  espoused 
eagerly,  strenuously,  one  side  or  the  other.  There 
were  no  half-hearted  men  in  Kentucky.  Henry 
Holt  had  ordered  a  brand  new  uniform  as  major 
of  staff  in  the  Confederate  service.  Norman  Holt, 
with  the  glistening  strap  of  a  first  lieutenant  on 
his  coat  of  Union  blue,  was  drilling  Company  "C" 
long  hours  each  day  when  the  Governor's  secre- 


SOLDIER  IN  SPITE  OF  ALL  73 

tary  arrived  at  Camp  Rosecrans,  accompanied  by 
Mr.  J.  Burnett  Malloy,  who  had  failed  of  re-elec 
tion,  and,  thirty-four  in  number,  the  officers  pres 
ent  assembled  to  receive  their  commissions  at  his 
hands.  Then  and  not  until  then  was  it  learned 
that,  in  one  case  only,  the  Governor,  in  the  exer 
cise  of  his  discretion,  had  seen  fit  to  disregard  the 
election,  and  for  good  and  sufficient  reasons,  as 
was  stated,  Mr.  J.  Burnett  Malloy  was  re-estab 
lished  first  lieutenant  of  Company  "C"  instead  of  the 
almost  unanimous  choice  of  the  men.  The  bar  so 
confidently  promised  Norman  Holt  at  the  hands 
of  the  state  had  come  indeed — but  it  was  a  bar 
sinister. 

"You  will  see  now,"  Malloy  had  whispered  to 
Mr.  Lane,  "how  quick  that  will  settle  the  question 
and  send  him  South,  where  he  belongs." 

But  Malloy  was  wrong.  When  the  regiment  was 
mustered  in  a  few  days  later,  a  new  name  ap 
peared  among  the  many  Hibernian  patronymics 
that  adorned  the  roll  of  the  rank  and  file  of  Com 
pany  "C."  It  was  that  of  Private  Norman  M. 
Holt. 


CHAPTER  VI 

"DESDICHADO" 

The  dream  of  neutrality  was  a  thing  of  the 
past.  With  the  northward  dash  of  the  Confeder 
ates — Buckner's  division  on  Bowling  Green  and 
Elizabethtown,  and  Zollicoffer's  through  Cumber 
land  Gap  into  the  heart  of  the  state — Kentucky 
found  herself  a  veritable  battle-ground,  and,  as 
though  ashamed  of  their  previous  inaction,  her 
men  flew  to  arms  in  earnest.  On  one  side  or  the 
other,  the  most  vehement,  onward  fighters  wher 
ever  they  served,  these '  'sons  of  the  dark  and  bloody 
ground" — her  soldiers — were  promptly  arrayed. 
The  die  was  cast.  The  South  had  crossed  the 
Rubicon,  and  loyal  Kentucky  felt  her  dignity 
assailed,  her  soil  invaded.  It  turned  the  scale 
with  many  a  wavering  heart.  It  transferred  into 
Unionists  and  Loyalists  and  stanch  upholders  of 
the  old  flag  scores  of  gallant  fellows  whose  heart 
strings  up  to  that  time  seemed  half  woven  in  the 
fabric  of  state's  rights  and  Southern  supremacy. 
It  cost  many  a  wrench  and  rupture,  but,  once  the 
step  was  taken,  no  man  turned  back. 

In  hundreds  of  families  brother  was  arrayed 
against  brother,  the  famous  names  of  the  old 
commonwealth,  whose  motto  had  been  "United 
we  stand,"  were  now  to  be  found  in  division, 


"DESDICHADO"  75 

brigade,  and  regimental  commands  fronting  each 
other  in  the  field  of  arms.  It  was  the  policj  of 
the  South  to  tempt  the  wavering  with  commissions 
to  high  rank.  It  was  the  mistake  of  the  North 
to  treat  with  neglect  and  disfavor  soldiers  who 
hailed  from  the  border  states.  The  man  who  had 
attested  his  loyalty  and  devotion  to  the  Union, 
even  at  the  cost  of  disinheritance  and  ostracism, 
should  have  been  above  suspicion.  There  had  been 
a  rending  apart  in  the  fair  old  blue  grass  coun 
try,  where  galloping  scouts  announced  the  north 
ward  sweep  of  the  Confederate  columns.  Asholt 
was  wellnigh  robbed  of  its  able-bodied  men, 
most  of  whom  had  hastened  to  Buckner  at  Bowl- 
ing-Green,  and  joined  his  command. 

As  for  Belle  view,  it  was  turned  over  to  the 
care,  as  has  been  said,  of  the  overseer  and  but- 
ler.  The  genial  old  host  of  the  winter  be 
fore,  with  deeper  lines  about  his  wistful  eyes, 
with  all  the  buoyant  gladness  gone,  had  taken 
himself  to  Nashville,  and  thence  to  Johnston's 
camp,  too  old,  he  said,  to  serve  as  surgeon, 
but  not  too  old  to  be  adviser  and  friend.  There, 
too,  was  Henry,  major  and  aide-de-camp,  and 
both  marveled  as  they  read  from  a  Louisville 
paper  the  names  of  the  officers  of  the  — th  Ohio, 
hastened  forward  to  re-enforce  Rousseau,  for  there 
was  no  Norman  Holt  among  them.  They  found 
instead  the  name  of  J.  Burnett  Malloy.  Those 
were  days  in  which  papers  and  people,  too,  went 
to  and  fro  between  the  lines  with  little  let  or 
hindrance,  and  there  came  to  Johnston's  head 
quarters,  eager  to  tender  his  sword  to  the  South, 


7i  NORMAN  HOLT 

a  youth  well  known  to  the  Holts  and  to  society 
in  Louisville  and  Cincinnati,  and  through  him  for 
the  first  time  the  amazed  father  heard  the  particu 
lars  as  given  out  by  the  regiment  on  its  way 
through  Louisville  to  the  front,  to  wit:  that, 
although  elected  first  lieutenant  by  his  men, 
Norman  Holt  was  believed  by  the  state  authori 
ties  to  be  in  sympathy  with  the  South  and  in 
correspondence  with  Southerners  in  active  re 
bellion;  that  he  was  considered  too  "shaky"  in 
his  loyalty  to  be  intrusted  with  a  commission; 
that,  deprived  of  it,  he  had  confounded  his  de 
tractors,  whoever  they  were,  by  enlisting  forth 
with  in  the  ranks  of  the  company  of  which  he 
was  the  choice  for  second  in  command. 

And  hearing  this,  the  doctor's  rage  burst  all 
bounds.  He  had  stormed  at  his  son  for  siding 
against  the  South.  He  disowned  him,  he  said, 
and  declared  he  would  never  again  receive  him, 
But  when  told  that  his  boy,  his  flesh  and  blood, 
had  been  repudiated  by  the  state  with  whose 
foremost  regiment  and  with  whose  colors  he  had 
cast  his  lot,  words  utterly  failed  him.  He  was 
for  rushing  back  to  the  Ohio,  speeding  to  Colum 
bus,  bearding  the  Governor  in  his  capitol,  and 
fighting  him  on  the  spot  for  his  insult  to  the 
name  and  fame  of  Holt.  The  boy  might  be  wrong- 
headed,  ungrateful,  misled,  "all  because  of  his 
love  for  a  Northern  girl,"  the  doctor  had  it. 
(How  many  a  Northern-born  soldier  went  amiss 
because  of  his  love  for  a  lass  in  the  sunny  South ! ) 
Yes,  Norman  might  be  "a  rank  traitor,  suh,  to 
the  South,  suh,  but  he  was  incapable  of  double 


"DESDICHADO"  T7 

dealing,  suh.  He  could  no  more  lie  than  I  could 
fly,  suh." 

They  had  no  easy  time  holding  the  irate  old 
gentleman  on  their  side  of  the  Cumberland,  so 
bent  was  he  on  resenting  the  affront  to  the  name. 
He  stared  incredulously  when  they  told  him  he 
would  be  arrested  and  probably  sent  to  a  North 
ern  prison,  perhaps  tried  as  a  spy,  if  caught 
within  the  Northern  lines.  Mad  with  eagerness 
for  the  South  to  assert  herself,  for  the  war  to 
begin  in  good  earnest,  and  to  redeem  Kentucky, 
as  he  expressed  it,  he  could  hardly  realize  that  the 
war  was  actually  on  and  raging  all  about  him. 
The  idea  of  accusing  a  Holt  of  Kentucky  of  dou 
ble  dealing!  Let  him  catch  that  buckeye  Gover 
nor  but  once  and  he'd  horsewhip  him,  suh, 
cowhide  him,  suh,  and  those  who  knew  the  doctor 
knew  that,  at  least,  was  no  idle  threat. 

Henry  himself  caught  some  of  the  father's  fury. 
He,  too,  was  indignant  at  the  injustice  done  his 
brother.  He  knew  even  before  the  significant 
breakdown  the  night  of  the  flag  presentation 
how  sorely  Norman  was  tried.  He  knew  how  the 
lad  grieved  over  Lane's  altered  manner  and  the 
almost  frigid  greeting  accorded  him  when  he 
called  at  the  house.  He  knew  that  the  boy's 
brave  heart  was  fairly  surrendered  to  that  lovely 
face  and  winsome  smile,  but  the  face  had  been 
clouded,  the  smile  timorous  and  fitful  for  days 
before  the  fatal  shot  that  divided  North  from 
South  and  set  brother  against  brother.  Lane 
would  live  up  scrupulously  to  the  business  obliga 
tion  which  made  Hemy  a  junior  partner,  and 


78  NORMAN  HOLT 

Norman  a  reader  in  his  office,  but  beyond  that 
Henry  Holt  saw  plainly  the  pragmatical  lawyer 
would  not  go.  He  saw,  moreover,  that  Lane, 
who  had  so  deprecated  Senator  Malloy's  influence 
over  Mclntyre,  and  who  had  been  so  averse  to 
the  younger  Malloy's  advances,  was  by  April 
almost  as  frequently  in  conference  with  the  Sena 
tor  as  ever  Mclntyre  had  been,  while  Malloy,  Jr., 
almost  haunted  the  old  house  on  Fourth  street, 
toward  which  Norman  so  often  walked  at  evening 
and  to  -which  his  visits  became  perforce  less  and 
less  frequent.  What  Henry  did  not  know  was 
that  Daisy  Lane,  at  least,  held  out  against  the 
assiduous  devotions  of  Malloy,  and  despite  all  the 
whisperings  she  heard  by  day  or  night  to  the 
detriment  of  Norman  Holt,  warmed  to  him  in  her 
innermost  heart,  even  though  forbidden  to  encour 
age  him  in  the  least.  "Theodore  thinks  the  world 
of  him,"  she  said,  with  flaming  cheeks,  the  evening 
following  the  presentation. 

She  had  actually  let  Norman  see  a  little  of  the 
compassion  and  tenderness  of  her  heart,  and 
thereby  made  him  almost  forget  the  humiliation 
of  his  failure  as  a  speechmaker.  But  the  mother 
had  swooped  upon  them  and  roundly  rated  Daisy 
as  soon  as  Norman  could  with  decency  be  made 
to  take  his  leave.  "Theodore  thinks  the  world  of 
him,  and  so  did  you,  mamma,  until  after  he  came 
here  from  Belleview!  Now  you  snub  him,  and 
you — you  welcome  Mr.  Malloy.  It  was  just  the 
other  way  three  months  ago,"  wherein  the  young 
lady  spake  only  truth,  but  to  no  purpose. 
"Times  are  changed,"  said  Mrs.  Lane,  "and  what 


"DESDICHADO"  79 

might  have  been  suitable  last  winter  is  now  out 
of  the  question.  Besides,  your  father  finds  he 
misjudged  Senator  Malloy.  He  is  a  man  much 
misunderstood,"  and  when  Mrs.  Lane  spoke  thus 
loftily,  the  daughter  knew  that  argument  was 
useless. 

Yet  her  heart  was  wrung,  and  her  tears  fell 
thick  and  fast  when  the  regiment  hurried  away 
at  the  call  of  danger.  There  had  been  a  look  in 
Norman's  face,  a  clasp  from  his  trembling  hand 
she  could  not  misinterpret,  and  her  humid  eyes 
had  spoken  answering  volumes  into  his,  but  to 
what  purpose?  Not  once  had  there  passed  a  line 
between  them  during  the  three  months  he  was 
away.  He  had  written  regularly,  in  fact,  inces 
santly,  to  Theo  at  first,  and  had  sent  many  mes 
sages.  It  was,  "Tell  Miss  Daisy  this  and  tell  Miss 
Daisy  that,"  and  these,  at  first,  the  boy  delivered. 
But  Lane,  senior,  took  the  boy  to  task.  With  no 
Norman  to  watch  over  his  waywardness,  the  lad 
had  speedily  fallen  into  evil  courses  again.  There 
had  been  nights  away  from  home  and  days  in  bar 
and  billiard  rooms,  and  demands  from  creditors, 
and  Lane  got  wind  of  much  of  it,  paid  the  press 
ing  debts,  but  put  a  ban  on  future  indiscretions. 
"What's  more,  I  want  this — this  nonsense  between 
your  sister  and — young  Holt  summarily  stopped. 
No  more  messages,  understand  me,  either  way. 
You  needn't  say  anything  of  this  to  him,  of 
course,  but  you  must  suppress  everything  coming 
from  him  for  her." 

Then  Malloy  came  home,  and,  not  so  much  by 
what  he  said  as  by  what  he  intimated,  told  tales 


80  NORMAN  HOLT 

of  Norman  Holt  that  undermined  Theodore's  feeble, 
superficial  faith,  and  made  that  weak  vessel  only 
moderately  glad  to  see  Norman  again.  There 
was  no  ring  to  the  voice,  no  vim  to  the  hand 
clasp,  no  soul  in  the  welcome,  and  Norman,  sad 
and  changed,  and  five  years  matured,  with  all 
his  home  trouble,  knew  well  what  influences  must 
have  been  at  work,  and  realized,  as  many  another 
fellow  had  done,  that  the  devoted  friendship 
lavished  on  an  idol's  brother,  was  devotion 
thrown  away. 

He  saw  with  sorrow  Theodore's  changed  man 
ner  and  ill-appearance.  He  saw  with  something 
like  dismay  that  the  lad  was  drinking  to  excess 
and  frequenting  the  old  resorts.  In  a  burst  of 
confidence,  late  in  June,  Theodore  had  written 
the  details  of  his  father's  discovery  and  the  pay 
ment  of  his  harassing  debts  (which  did  not  in 
clude,  however,  the  $100  he  owed  the  lieutenant), 
and  the  total  stoppage  of  his  allowance.  Yet 
here  he  was  again  '  'treating"  lavishly  as  was  his 
wont,  punting  at  pool  and  billiards,  and  losing 
himself  at  night  in  a  faro  bank  much  affected  by 
young  men  about  town.  Whence  came  the  means? 
Norman  saw  with  bitter  and  jealous  pain  that 
the  young  fellow  was  now  quite  frequently  with 
Malloy.  Coming  up  from  camp  with  a  patrol  after 
absentees,  he  was  surprised  to  find  Theodore  at 
six  one  summer  morning,  looking  vastly  as  though 
he  had  been  up  all  night,  slinking  and  skulking 
at  the  vestibule  of  the  Malloy  homestead.  What 
sought  he  there,  and  at  that  hour?  Then  stories 
of  the  lad's  lapse  into  worse  dissipation  than 


"DBSDICHADO"  &l 

before  came  to  Norman's  unwilling  ears,  and  when 
he  would  have  sought  and  pleaded  with  him 
Theodore  was  not  to  be  found. 

A  fortnight  was  spent  in  the  reorganization, 
and  "Cap"  would  have  been  utterly  at  a  loss 
without  Holt,  his  right-hand  man.  "Cap"  well 
knew  the  lad's  value  and  ability,  as  did  the  "Old 
Man,"  now  gone  to  Washington  as  a  General; 
but  "Cap"  found  the  new  regimental  commander 
oddly  unresponsive  when  he  bragged  of  his  subalt 
ern.  "Cap"  took  things  easy,  and  not  a  few 
noggins  of  poteen  in  his  daily  rounds,  and  loaded 
all  the  work  upon  Norman's  shoulders,  so  that 
only  rarely  could  the  junior  get  to  town.  When 
he  did,  and  asked  for  Theodore,  he  heard  strange 
and  uncanny  tales  about  his  doings.  The  boy 
was  in  a  bad  way.  Mr.  Lane  had  gone  to  Wash 
ington  on  business;  some  said  he  had  got  the 
war  fever,  and  was  seeking  a  commission  as 
major  and  judge  advocate,  and  the  mother  and 
Daisy  seemed  to  have  no  control  over  the  young- 
ster.  Malloy  was  befriending  him;  had  occasion 
ally  looked  him  up  and  taken  him  to  his  own 
house  to  "straighten  out."  But  his  sprees  seemed 
endless.  Norman,  with  throbbing  heart,  had 
called  on  the  Lanes  twice.  Once,  with  her  mother, 
he  had  seen  the  girl  he  loved.  Once  the  ladies 
begged  to  be  excused,  yet  as  he  looked  ruefully 
back  from  the  street  below,  surely  he  could  not 
be  mistaken,  it  was  Daisy  who  appeared  an  in 
stant  at  an  open  window  and  gazed  at  him  and 
put  her  finger  to  her  lips.  But  she  was  gone  as 
quickly— gone  all  of  a  sudden,  as  though  she 
6 


82  NORMAN  HOLT 

dreaded  being  found  there.    What  spell  was  over 
the  child? 

Then  he  had  striven  to  communicate  with  his 
father,  and  the  letters  were  returned,  unopened. 
The  old  man's  wrath  was  unappeased.  Then  he 
had  -written  to  Henry.  He  longed  to  see  the  old 
home  again.  Kentucky  was  still  "neutraV  Peo 
ple  still  went  to  and  fro,  no  matter  whether  they 
were  Southern  or  Union  in  sympathies.  He  might 
be  able,  he  wrote,  to  get  away  for  two  days — 
run  down  by  night  boat  to  Louisville  and  out  to 
Belleview  by  morning  train.  Would  not  Henry 
urge  the  father  to  reconsider  and  to  grant  his 
boy  one  meeting,  one  conference?  This  time  came 
a  line  in  the  old  doctor's  trembling  hand. 

"Unless  you  would  add  to  the  wrong  you  have 
done  your  name,  never  dare  set  foot  at  Belleview 
so  long  as  you  wear  that  uniform." 

And  then,  to  add  the  last  pound  to  his  load  of 
trouble,  he  stood  disowned  by  the  authorities  of 
the  government  he  so  loyally  had  served  at  the 
cost  of  almost  everything  he  held  dear,  was  re 
fused  his  commission  on  the  eve  of  the  regiment's 
departure,  and  now,  homeless,  fatherless,  friendless 
save  among  the  rough  fellows  who  had  given  him 
the  wealth  of  their  soldier  hearts,  what  was 
there  left  him  to  do  but  enlist  as  one  of  them  and 
with  them  fight  his  way  to  honor  and  to  recogni 
tion — or  fall  like  a  soldier  in  the  attempt? 

Away  to  the  front  they  had  gone,  "Cap"  kind 
and  sympathetic  as  could  be,  the  men  crowding 
about  him  with  uncouth  words  of  cheer.  The 
first  lieutenant  had  been  held  back  to  come  on 


"DESDICHADO"  83 

later  with  certain  recruits  and  men  who  had  been 
gathered  in  by  the  provost  guard.  Stirring  events 
were  imminent.  Louisville  was  in  a  state  of 
alarm  and  excitement  as  they  marched  through, 
and  two  days  later  they  were  being  trundled 
out  southward  over  the  old,  familiar  railway. 
Buckner,  whose  advance  had  pounced  on  Eliza- 
bethtown,  had  drawn  in  his  claws  before  Rous 
seau's  threatening  brigade  in  the  rocky,  tunnel- 
pierced  heights  beyond  Salt  River.  The  rapidly 
arriving  regiments  from  across  the  Ohio,  untaught 
and  undisciplined  as  yet,  were  being  herded  into 
camps  well  out  in  front  of  the  metropolis,  while 
the  daring  invaders  from  the  South  hung  on  and 
fortified  at  Bowling  Green.  There  followed  two 
months  of  incessant  drill  and  preparation,  of 
occasional  alarm,  and  then  there  came  a  day 
when  a  great  surprise  awaited  the  sad,  silent 
Kentuckian  in  the  humble  private's  dress.  He 
was  drilling  a  squad  of  raw  men  in  the  manual 
of  arms  when  the  first  sergeant  came  forward 
with  some  new  arrivals.  "Take  these  young 
fellers,  too,  corporal,"  said  he,  for  already  "Cap" 
had  found  means  to  "lance"  his  favorite  to  that 
grade,  pending  the  coming  of  a  vacancy,  and 
turning  quickly,  Norman's  astonished  eyes  fell 
upon  the  foremost  of  the  squad  in  cheap,  ill-fitting 
blue.  It  was  Theodore  Lane. 

Three  days  later,  just  before  the  blessed  Christ- 
mastide  was  ushered  in,  there  came  a  sensation 
beside  which  this  was  forgotten.  Late  in  the  after 
noon  six  companies  of  the  regiment,  "C"  among 
them,  had  been  loaded  on  flat  cars  and  sent 


84  NORMAN  HOLT 

jolting  slowly  away  southward.  Cavalry— some 
of  Johnston's  regiment — had  been  scouting  about 
Bardstown  for  a  week,  and  the  air  was  full  of 
rumor  and  whisperings.  With  aching  eyes  and 
compressed  lips,  Norman  Holt  stood  clinging  to  a 
stanchion  and  gazing  out  over  the  well  remem 
bered  landscape.  He  had  been  praying  for  oppor 
tunity  to  confound  his  accusers  and  command 
their  respect.  He  had  been  longing  for  active 
duty,  but  never  had  it  seemed  to  occur  to  him 
that  the  first  service  demanded  should  be  here  in 
his  own  native  state,  almost  in  his  native  county. 
With  strange  excitement,  with  something  like 
dread  forboding  as  the  long  train  puffed  on  into 
the  gathering  twilight  and  the  stars  came  peeping 
out  in  the  eastward  skies,  he  stood  there  silent, 
somber,  wondering,  and  filled  with  vague,  tremu 
lous  uneasiness.  At  last  there  was  a  stop  and 
orders  were  given  to  scramble  out,  and  in  the 
dim  light  the  companies  re-formed  and  the  captains 
rectified  the  alignment  on  the  center. 

A  troop  of  cavalry,  dismounted,  stood  or 
sprawled  across  the  open  space  a  few  rods  away. 
Dim  lights  were  gleaming  here  and  there  in  the 
cluster  of  dark  houses  to  the  left.  The  train 
backed  away.  "Going  for  the  rest  of  the  regi 
ment  "  was  the  explanation,  and  the  order  was 
passed  to  the  men  to  stack  arms,  build  their  little 
fires,  spread  their  blankets,  and  get  such  sleep  as 
they  might.  They  would  be  aroused  before  dawn 
and  camp  -would  not  be  pitched  before  another 
day.  Norman  had  only  just  unslung  knapsack 
when  a  sergeant  came  from  the  right  of  the  line. 


AT   SIGHT   OF   THE    LATTER,    NORMAN    HOLT'S    HEART    GAVE   A 

SUDDEN    THROB    OF   WARNING. 

Page  8j 


"DESDICHADO"  §5 

"Cap  wants  you,"  was  his  amateur  method  of 
conveying  the  message,  and  "Cap"  said  the  colo 
nel  wished  to  see  Corporal  Holt  at  once.  Nor 
man's  face  was  very  pale  as  he  stepped  within 
a  dimly  lighted  office  at  the  railway  station.  A 
dozen  horses,  held  by  orderlies,  were  clustered 
about  the  little  building.  Three  or  four  cavalry 
officers  "were  chatting  in  low  tone  on  the  platform. 
The  colonel,  his  forage-cap  pulled  down  over  his 
eyes,  was  leaning  back  in  an  arm-chair  and 
slashing  at  his  knee  with  the  tassel  of  his  crimson 
sash.  The  adjutant  was  scribbling  at  some  papers 
at  the  bare,  wooden  table.  The  young  major  was 
seated  at  his  desk.  He  had  been  reading  aloud 
from  a  letter,  but  stopped  short  as  Norman 
halted  at  the  door  and  tapped  before  coming  in. 
Two  other  officers  stood,  in  low-toned  chat,  be 
hind  the  colonel,  one  a  captain  of  cavalry,  the 
other — Lieutenant  Malloy,  and  at  sight  of  the 
latter,  Norman  Holt's  heart  gave  a  sudden  throb 
of  warning. 

"Come  in,"  said  the  colonel,  and  without  an 
other  \vord  sat  studying  the  pale  features  of  the 
young  soldier  who  entered,  saluted,  and  stood 
attention  before  him. 

"Corporal  Holt,  I  understand  you  know  every 
path  and  by-road  beyond  the  Hardin  Hills  and 
can  easily  lead  through  Shelby  Gap,  even  of  a 
dark  night.  That  is  so,  is  it  not?" 

For  a  moment  the  silence  was  painful.  The 
young  soldier's  lips  moved.  He  seemed  striving  to 
swallow  something  before  he  could  speak.  His 
voice  choked  as  at  last  he  answered : 


86  NORMAN  HOLT 

"Yes,  sir." 

*  'Then  report  to  Captain  Wing  for  duty  at  once. 
He  will  furnish  you  with  a  horse.  You  will  see  to 
it  that  the  squadron  is  guided  to  reach  the  point 
he  mentions  before  daybreak.  And  now,  not  a 
word  of  it  to  anybody!" 


CHAPTER  VH 
THE  NIGHT  RIDE 

It  was  midnight  as  the  little  column  toiled  up 
the  winding  trail  that  led  to  the  gap.  The  wan 
ing  moon  had  climbed  half-way  toward  the  zenith 
and  was  looking  down  with  much  more  than 
half-shut  eyes  upon  the  dim  upheaval  of  the  Har- 
din  range  and  the  bosky  undulations  to  the  south. 

Away  in  the  northward  valley,  here  and  there 
at  distant  posts  and  points  along  the  crude,  cross 
country  railway,  glow-worm  lights  that  told  of 
little  watch-fires  could  be  traced  at  regular  inter 
vals,  but  on  the  southward  slope  and  far  over 
toward  the  long,  curving  spur  of  hills  that  swept 
southeastward  from  the  rocky  range  to  the  west, 
all  was  unbroken  gloom.  The  stars  twinkled 
faintly  in  the  southern  sky.  The  bay  of  watch 
dogs  in  the  farm  country  to  the  north  had  ceased 
as  the  column  entered  the  winding  trail  to  the 
gap.  The  gay  laugh  and  jest  with  which  the 
troopers  rode  away  from  the  main  body  at  the 
railway  had  long  since  been  hushed.  Men  spoke 
only  at  rare  intervals,  and  in  low  and  muttered 
tone  when  they  spoke  at  all,  for  Kttle  by  little  it 
had  dawned  upon  the  squadron  that  this  was  no 
mere  holiday  ride  through  the  friendly  farm  lands 


88  31ORMAN 

of  the  Middle  Fork,  no  Christmas  call  from  camp 
to  camp. 

They  were  striking  through  what  had  been  for 
weeks  past  a  barrier  to  a  new,  uncertain,  un 
known,  inhospitable  region,  where  Union  senti 
ment  had  been  strangled  in  many  a  little  town 
and  hamlet,  where  armed  rebellion  rode  at  will, 
influenced  by  powerful  citizens  like  the  Holts  and 
Homans.  Foraging  and  scouting  parties  were 
frequent  from  the  divisions  of  Buckner  and  Zolli- 
cofler,  the  one  intrenched  at  Bowling  Green  at 
the  southwest,  but  covering  the  fords  and  bridges 
of  the  Green  River,  the  other  encamped  near  Mill 
Spring  on  the  Cumberland,  southeastward,  both 
stirring  up  the  country  for  miles.  Union  camps 
lay  east  of  Belleview,  anywhere  from  thirty  to 
forty  miles  distant,  but,  thanks  to  the  curtaining 
range  of  the  Hardins,  all  main  traveled  roads, 
save  the  far-sweeping  pike,  left  Belleview  to  the 
south,  independent  in  having  its  own  spur  to  the 
Nashville  railway. 

Into  that  almost  secluded  region,  therefore,  the 
Union  cavalry  had  only  once  penetrated  when 
scouting  southwest  from  Harrodsburg,  and  on 
that  occasion  it  suddenly  encountered  a  superior 
force  of  gray-jacketed  lads  from  below  the  Cum 
berland,  who  came  within  an  ace  of  capturing  the 
whole  party,  and  who  drove  them,  yelling  at  their 
heels,  half-way  back  to  the  Kentucky.  There  were 
men  riding  in  Wing's  squadron  this  very  night 
who  knew  all  about  that  raid,  had  had  full  par 
ticulars  from  their  comrades  of  the  home  guards, 
and  looked  back  in  vain  effort  to  see  how  many 


THE  NIGHT  RIDE  39 

men  were  with  them  to-night.  It  couldn't  be  a 
big  command,  said  one,  since  Captain  Wing  was 
leader.  Still,  as  was  pointed  out,  this  might  only 
be  the  advance  guard,  or  a  side  scout  or  some 
thing  of  that  kind.  A  big  force  was  probably 
moving  in  support.  All  the  same,  there  were  not 
a  few  who  wished  that  somebody  else  had  the 
bliss  of  being  foremost  in  this  stealthy  night  raid 
through  the  forbidding  range ;  and  when  the  signal 
was  given  to  halt  and  dismount  as  the  head  of 
column  reached  the  summit  of  the  pass,  and  Wing, 
with  his  first  lieutenant  and  the  tall,  smooth-faced 
young  fellow  who  rode  as  guide,  climbed  the  hill 
side  to  the  east,  the  troopers  huddled  in  little 
knots  and  talked  it  over  in  muffled  tones.  The 
war  was  a  new  thing.  They  had  sworn  to  obey 
the  officers  appointed  over  them,  but  they  thought 
the  officers,  being  Americans  like  themselves, 
should  take  "the  boys"  into  their  confidence,  as 
it  were,  tell  them  what  was  up,  where  they  were 
going,  and  what  for.  In  fact,  if  it  was  any  such 
damfool  exhibition  as  that  which  had  resulted  so 
disastrously  to  those  fellows  from  Camp  Dick 
Robinson,  why — they  didn't  want  to  be  in  it. 
There  was  an  underlying  sentiment  that  no  hazar 
dous  move  should  be  made  without  first  putting 
it  to  vote,  but  this,  be  it  remembered,  was  when 
the  sovereign  citizen  had  but  recently  quit  the 
shop,  the  mill,  or  the  schoolhouse  for  a  place  in 
the  ranks.  Napoleon  has  said  all  men  are  cow 
ards  in  the  dark,  and  among  these  untried  lads, 
who  were  so  soon  to  develop  qualities  of  such 
superb  mettle  and  endurance,  there  were  some 


*>  NORMAN  HOLT 

who  saw  giants  in  every  stunted  tree,  stealthy 
signals  in  peeping  stars,  and  heard  the  voice  of 
ambuscading  hundreds  in  the  hoot  of  harmless 
owls.  And  in  one  of  these  low  muttering  groups 
the  question  was  asked,  "Who  is  the  fellow  riding 
with  'Cap'  to-night?"  The  average  American 
hates  to  say  captain.  It  sounds  too  civil — too 
subservient. 

He  himself  hardly  knew.  Like  one  in  some 
weird,  almost  terrible  dream,  the  young  Kentuck- 
ian  sat  in  saddle  on  the  captain's  left,  and,  indi 
cating  the  road  by  a  mere  turn  of  the  head  or  a 
brief  word,  gave  himself  up  to  painful  thought. 
With  all  his  sad  experiences,  with  all  his  grief  at 
the  loss  of  his  father's  love  and  trust,  the  loss  of 
home  and  friends  and  station,  never  until  this 
night  had  Norman  Holt  begun  to  realize  what  it 
meant  to  take  sides  against  his  own  kith  and 
kin.  Never  had  it  dawned  upon  him  as  a  possi 
bility  that  he  might  be  called  upon  to  use  his 
knowledge  of  his  native  state  and  county  in  guid 
ing  to  the  hearthstones  of  his  life-long  friends  and 
neighbors  a  column  that  could  come  only  with 
hostile  intent.  What  did  it  mean?  What  did  it 
mean?  They  must  reach  Belleview  before  the 
dawn.  He  had  only  four  hours  yet  in  which  to 
make  it.  His  anxiety  was  not  on  that  score,  but 
— what  sought  the  column  there?  Only  the  ser 
vants  were  at  home,  as  he  believed.  The  darkies, 
of  course,  still  hung  about  the  quarters,  and  were 
with  difficulty  prevented  from  infesting  the  house 
itself.  '  'Aunt  Mary, ' '  Mrs .  Preston,  at  her  brother' s 
advice,  had  taken  most  of  her  belongings  and 


THE  NIGHT  RIDE  »1 

gone  to  the  roof  of  Her  late  husband's  kindred  in 
far  New  Orleans.  All  the  men  who  " amounted  to 
shucks,"  as  the  townsfolk  put  it,  had  ridden  to 
Buckner's  camp,  save  three  or  four  whom  North 
ern  blood  and  affiliation  held  true  to  the  flag. 
For  these  latter  Belleview  was  no  place,  or  Asholt 
either,  for  that  matter.  It  proudly  called  itself 
"secesh  to  the  backbone,"  mainly  because  of  the 
doctor's  later  teachings.  And  now  something  or 
somebody  was  to  be  looked  up  in  that  neighbor 
hood,  which  or  whom  the  Union  Generals  greatly 
wanted,  and  Wing,  one  of  the  brainiest  and  best 
officers  of  the  mounted  service  yet  found  in  Ken 
tucky,  was  chosen  to  go  in  search,  and  go  with 
only  his  own  squadron.  This  meant  that  there 
could  be  no  heavy  force  in  that  neighborhood, 
but  it  might  be  just  one  man  whose  capture  was 
desired,  and  what  man,  asked  Norman,  would 
be  so  eagerly  welcomed  as  prisoner  as  his  high- 
spirited,  hot-headed  and  most  influential  old 
father?  Could  it  be  that  it  had  become  his  lot  to 
guide  these  alien  troopers  in  an  attack  on  his 
own  old  home — to  indignity,  to  assault,  perhaps, 
on  that  honored  father's  person? 

Not  one  word  had  the  captain  vouchsafed  as  to 
the  purpose  of  the  expedition.  For  miles  that 
officer  had  ridden  at  the  head  of  column,  some 
times  chatting  in  low  tone  with  the  lieutenant 
commanding  the  first  platoon,  but  only  rarely 
addressing  a  question  to  their  guide;  and  Norman, 
schooled  at  West  Point  to  silence  and  subordina 
tion,  aware,  too,  that  every  now  and  then  the 
captain  was  closely,  curiously  studying  him,  rode 


92  NORMAN  HOLT 

on  in  gloomy  silence.  He  "was  conscious  of  a 
feeling  of  resentment  and  of  vague  indignity.  He 
felt  that  the  fates  themselves  were  leagued  against 
him.  It  was  keenest  cruelty  that  in  all  the  wide 
fields  through  which  the  swiftly  mustered  armies 
of  the  Union  were  now  distributed  the  fortunes 
of  war  should  have  sent  him,  a  humble  private 
soldier,  practically  friendless  and  alone,  to  guide 
a  hostile  command  to  the  very  home  of  his  boy 
hood.  Well  he  knew  to  whose  malign  influence  he 
owed  this  detail!  Well  he  remembered  the  drive 
from  Belleview  to  Bardstown,  and  bitterly  he  re 
called  the  search  for  the  lost  pair  in  the  Buford 
Woods.  Vividly,  too,  he  recalled  the  question  so 
significantly  asked,  and  guilelessly  answered,  as 
to  his  ability  to  follow  any  of  these  homeward 
trails,  no  matter  how  dark  the  night.  Who  but 
Malloy  could  have  volunteered  the  information 
that  resulted  in  this  most  distressing  duty? 

And  now  that,  remembering  the  solemn  words 
of  his  oath  of  enlistment,  he  had  with  silent  self- 
sacrifice  taken  the  post  assigned  him,  and  led  the 
command  to  the  summit  of  the  gap;  now  that 
the  devious  trails  were  wellnigh  traversed,  and 
the  pike,  broad  and  straight,  lay  only  three  miles 
farther  on,  he  had  it  in  mind  to  say  to  the 
grim  commander  that  Belleview  was  only  ten 
miles  from  the  fork  of  the  road— he  couldn't  miss 
it— and  to  frankly  set  before  that  officer  the  pain 
and  distress  of  his  position,  and  ask  if  he  might 
not  now  be  permitted  to  fall  out  and  return  to 
his  regiment.  With  the  keen  intuition  of  the  sen 
sitive  gentleman,  he  felt  that  the  captain  regarded 


THE  NIGHT  RIDE  93 

with  something  akin  to  pity,  if  not  contempt. 
What  manner  of  man  could  this  be  who  would 
guide  the  invader  against  his  own  home,  his  own 
people?  This  was,  in  words,  the  question  Norman 
Holt  believed  to  be  ever  uppermost  in  the  com 
mander's  mind.  He  felt  sure  that  Malloy  had 
given  full  particulars  of  his  relationship  to  the 
master  of  Belle  view.  He  felt  misjudged,  misunder 
stood,  yet  almost  helpless.  Ask  of  him  almost 
any  duty  but  this,  and,  even  without  the  solemn 
obligation  of  his  oath,  he  would  not  hesitate  to 
do  it.  Ask  even  this  supreme  test  of  his  loyalty 
and  devotion,  and  because  of  that  oath,  and  only 
because  of  it,  he  could  not  refuse  to  comply. 

Disowned  by  his  kind  and  kindred,  Norman  felt 
that  he  should  be  accorded  the  respect  and  sympa 
thy  and  support  of  all  true  Union  men,  yet  here  was 
an  officer,  whose  reputation  for  ability  had  already 
begun  to  reach  the  ranks,  whose  manner  plainly 
indicated  that  he  looked  on  the  young  Kentuckian 
as  one  of  the  hapless  results  of  a  civil  war,  a  man, 
ostracized  of  his  own  kind,  become  a  guide  and 
helper  to  their  enemies,  a  man  that,  even  when 
rendering  invaluable  service  to  the  cause  of  that 
enemy,  could  command  its  pity,  perhaps,  but 
never  its  regard.  That  the  noblest  and  purest 
rnotives  actuated  Norman's  adherence  to  the 
Union,  and  that  only  a  combination  of  adverse 
and  unforeseen  circumstances  brought  him  to  this 
unenviable  plight,  Captain  Wing  could  not  be 
expected  to  appreciate.  In  fact,  that  was  about 
the  last  thing  Mr.  Burnett  Malloy  permitted  him 
to  think  of  the  lone  Kentuckian.  Neither  he  nor 


94  NORMAN  HOLT 

the  new  colonel  had  aught  to  say  that  would 
have  led  the  captain  to  imagine  of  his  guide  that 
he  was  a  gentleman,  fine  and  sensitive  in  nature 
as  any  he  had  ever  encountered  in  his  life. 

Gruffly  Wing  had  asked  if  there  was  a  point  in 
the  range  from  which  the  country  toward  Belle- 
view  could  be  scanned.  Holt,  as  briefly,  answered, 
"A  hill  just  to  the  left  of  the  road— at  the  top  of 
the  pass." 

"Tell  me  where  to  halt  the  column  and  lead  me 
up  there." 

And  now,  just  after  twelve  o'clock,  on  this  still 
December  night,  three  men,  two  in  cavalry  un 
dress,  the  third  in  coarse,  ill-fitting,  contract  gar 
ments,  and  all  muffled  in  the  blue  overcoat  of  the 
line,  stood  gazing  southward  over  a  black  void. 
Above  was  spread  an  almost  cloudless,  spangled 
sky.  Beneath  lay  a  plain,  apparently  dark,  un 
measured,  unrelieved  by  the  twinkle  of  a  single 
light.  For  a  few  moments  the  two  officers  swept 
with  field  glasses  the  southern  horizon,  as  if  in 
hopes  of  finding  a  farm  or  cottage  window  illu 
minated,  but  all  was  dark  as  the  grave.  Finally 
the  captain  turned  upon  the  silent  guide. 

"About  which  way  is  Belle  view  from  here?" 

Holt  glanced  aloft  at  the  stars,  then  pointed 
east  of  south.  "Off  yonder,"  he  said. 

"Then  from  here  on  we'll  send  forward  a  little 
advance  guard,"  said  Wing  to  his  senior  lieuten 
ant.  "I  shall  have  to  ride  with  them,  and  you 
keep  half  a  dozen  men  strung  out  between  the 
advance  and  the  squadron  so  there'll  be  no  losing 
touch  and  getting  off  the  road."  Then  he  turned 


THE  NIGHT  RIDE  95 

to  Holt.  "How  soon  can  we  reach  Belle  view, 
going  at  steady  gait?" 

Norman  felt  the  chill  of  apprehension  closing  on 
his  heart  again.  Home,  home,  his  own  dearly 
loved  old  home,  the  objective  point,  and  he  the 
guide !  It  told  on  his  very  words  and  voice  when 
at  last  he  answered.  Just  as  when  interrogated 
by  the  colonel  at  the  railway,  hours  back,  he 
seemed  to  be  choking  before  he  could  speak  at  all. 

"Belle view  is  a  mile  beyond  the  town.  The  pike 
runs  through  Asholt.  To  reach  the  house  -with 
out  going  through  town  would  take  a  two-mile 
detour — but  there's  no  one  there  at  Belle  view  but 
the  overseer  and  the  negroes." 

"How  do  you  know?"  sharply  queried  the 
captain,  whirling  on  the  speaker.  Then,  as  though 
recollecting  himself,  he  coldly  broke  in  on  the 
soldier's  answer,  and,  without  listening,  abruptly 
silenced  him.  "However,  you  can't  know.  Mount 
and  take  the  lead.  Come  on,  Fanning!"  he  added, 
to  his  subaltern,  as  he  went  sliding  down  the 
steep,  grassy  slope.  And  Norman  followed  as  one 
in  a  daze. 

In  five  minutes  the  advance  was  clattering 
down  the  crooked  wood  road,  following  a  dark 
ravine  that  led  southeastward.  Holt,  a  dim, 
silent  figure,  foremost;  Wing  close  at  his  heels. 
For  some  reason  the  captain  kept  ever  within 
reach  of  his  guide,  riding  generally  abreast  of  his 
bridle.  Norman  noted  it  with  rising  bitterness 
and  wrath,  but  was  not  this,  too,  "nominated  in 
the  bond"?  Was  it  not  all  what  might  be  legiti 
mately  expected  and  required  of  him  in  the  obser- 


96  NORMAN  HOLT 

vance  of  that  solemn  oath?  And  so  as  nearer  and 
nearer  they  drew  to  the  old  homestead,  the  farther 
away,  thought  poor  Norman,  was  he  driving 
from  all  hope  of  welcome  or  possession  there.  At 
last  they  emerged  from  the  narrow,  cross-country 
lane  and  turned  southward  on  the  broad  turnpike, 
stretching  away  like  a  dull,  white  ribbon  in  the 
dim  fairy  light  through  the  fringing  wall  of  lofty 
trees.  And  now  at  last  he  had  made  up  his  mind. 
He  could  silently  bear  the  suspense  no  longer. 
A  sergeant  and  three  men  were  sent  forward  with 
orders  to  follow  the  highway,  but  to  ride  no 
faster  than  a  brisk  walk.  It  was  after  two 
o'clock.  They  must  be  at  the  designated  spot  by 
four-thirty  at  latest,  and  Norman  spoke.  "Cap 
tain  Wing,"  said  he,  "I  am  the  son  of  Dr.  Holt, 
the  owner  of  Belle  view.  Do  you  think  the  colonel 
knew,  when  he  picked  me  out  to  guide  you,  that 
such  was  the  case?" 

The  captain  impressively  put  his  right  hand  on 
his  pistol  butt  as  he  placidly  answered :  "He  knew 
that,  and  I  know  more,  sir.  It  will  go  hard  with 
you  if  this  scout  fail  of  its  purpose." 


CHAPTER  VIII 
BEATEN,  IF  NOT  BETRAYED 

"Four  o'clock  by  the  watch,"  muttered  Wing  to 
his  senior  subaltern,  as  the  squadron  halted  and 
dismounted  to  rest  the  horses  and  reset  saddles, 
"and  we  haven't  seen  a  spark  or  heard  a  sound. 
The  town  is  hardly  a  mile  ahead."  The  lieutenant 
nodded  but  said  no  word.  He  knew  his  captain's 
capacity,  but  respected  his  peculiarities.  Wing 
liked  to  do  the  talking  himself.  Moreover,  he  was 
not  in  the  best  humor.  He  had  started  on  this 
expedition  full  of  lively  anticipation.  It  was  the 
first  chance  of  really  stirring  service  that  had  yet 
fallen  to  the  lot  of  his  squadron.  He  was  chosen 
to  lead  a  night  march  to  Belleview,  and  beyond, 
if  need  be,  and  to  capture,  if  possible,  certain 
officers  of  the  staff  of  General  Buckner,  sent  from 
Bowling  Green  to  arouse  the  men  of  Casey,  Tay 
lor,  and  Greene  counties,  as  the  doctor  had  aroused 
those  of  Marion,  and  to  '  locate"  the  rendezvous 
of  several  bands  of  troopers  reported  as  riding  to 
and  fro  in  Central  Kentucky,  and  doing  no  little 
proselyting  that  was  not  all  persuasion. 

Wing  had  been  assured  by  the  colonel  command 
ing  at  Bardstown  that  Belleview  was  at  this 
moment  entertaining  three  prominent  officers  of 
the  Confederate  army,  one  of  whom  had  come 
7 


98  NORMAN  HOLT 

thither  under  the  instructions  of  Albert  Sidney 
Johnston  himself,  and  that  Dr.  Holt  was  at  home 
and  keeping  open  house  again  for  Christmastide 
at  least,  safe,  as  he  supposed,  behind  the  curtain 
of  the  Hardin  Hills.  Wing  had  been  furnished  with 
a  guide  who  knew  the  country  by  heart,  who  had 
been  cast  off  by  his  family  and  connections,  "not 
because  of  the  war,  but  previous  misdemeanors," 
said  the  colonel,  "and  the  young  fellow  is  not 
unwilling  to  turn  upon  those  who  had  spurned 
him."  Wing  started  with  the  highest  hopes  of 
success  and  a  low  opinion  of  Holt.  He  had 
conceived  it  to  be  a  wise  plan  to  let  the  young 
man  know  he  was  not  looked  upon  with  favor, — 
that  he  meant  to  hold  him  responsible  if  things 
went  amiss.  He  had  found  his  aversion  to  the 
young  soldier  waning  as  he  noted  his  quiet,  sad, 
dignified  bearing.  He  had  begun  to  believe  there 
might  be  two  sides  to  this  as  to  other  stories; 
and  still,  had  he  not  been  warned  by  the  colonel 
that  there  was  reason  to  doubt  the  young  man's 
loyalty?  Had  not  Malloy  intimated  even  more? 
He  had  spoken  his  thinly  veiled  threat  in  a  mo 
ment  of  impulse,  and  regretted  it  almost  before  the 
words  were  off  his  tongue.  It  seemed  to  his  inner 
and  better  self  such  a  brutal  thing,  even  in  war 
time,  to  bully  a  man  who  could  not  hit  back. 
Even  in  the  darkness  he  felt,  though  he  could  not 
see,  the  pallor  deepen  on  the  young  soldier's  face. 
He  could  not  fail  to  note  the  choke  in  the  utter 
ance,  the  tremor  in  the  voice,  -when  at  last  Nor 
man  Holt  found  words,  and  his  sense  of  burning 
wrong  and  injustice  was  given  vent.  It  wa»  only 


BEATEN,  IF  NOT  BETRAYED  99 

by  supreme  effort  that  he  remembered  the  rigor- 
ous  teachings  of  three  years  at  the  Point,  and 
controlled  his  temper. 

4 'As  I  have  no  idea  of  the  object,  Captain  Wing, 
I  shall  not  know  whether  it  has  failed  or  not. 
But  no  threats  are  necessary.  Although  no  man 
in  this  army  has  been  more  a  sufferer  than  I  for 
doing  a  soldier's  duty,  yet  I  shall  continue  to 
do  it."  With  that  he  turned  away,  leaving  Wing 
to  feel  the  blood  climbing  to  his  weather-beaten 
cheeks.  There  was  rebuke,  deserved  rebuke,  in  the 
soldier's  tone,  manner,  and  words.  He  spoke  like 
a  gentleman,  and  Wing  had  spoken  like  a  brute. 
He  had  been  threatened,  and,  without  threatening, 
had  most  effectively  replied.  There  was  more  to 
this  young  fellow  than  Wing  supposed,  and  he 
was  fairly  silenced  by  the  unexpected  response. 
And  now,  when  he  -would  have  liked  to  cultivate 
the  youth  and  draw  him  out,  as  it  were,  and 
learn  something  about  the  county,  and  the  people, 
he  found  his  guide  silent,  unresponsive,  unforgiv 
ing. 

By  the  time  four  o'clock  came  and  the  spire  of 
a  church  or  two  and  the  wooden  cupola  of  the 
inevitable  court-house  could  be  dimly  discerned 
against  the  southward  sky,  the  squadron  dismount 
ed  to  rest  while  the  captain,  his  guide,  and  a 
brace  of  troopers  stole  softly  forward  to  recon- 
noiter.  Wing  was  wishing  he  had  bitten  his 
tongue  before  speaking  so  harshly  to  a  man  placed 
as  was  this  soldier  son  of  a  gallant,  dismembered, 
unhappy  state.  Almost  was  he  wishing  that  to 
some  other  squadron  leader  had  fallen  the  detail, 


100  NORMAN  HOLT 

for  in  answer  to  a  plain  question  Holt  said  he 
had  reason  to  know  that  his  father  had  left 
Belleview  some  weeks  before,  intending  not  to 
return.  He  did  not  say  that  which  for  a  moment 
was  trembling  on  his  tongue— that  if  his  father 
were  there  the  squadron  would  not  be— until 
broad  daylight.  Back  where  the  men  were  resting 
by  the  roadside  a  cross-country  track  intersected 
the  pike.  Follow  that  either  eastward  or  west 
ward  a  mile  or  so,  and  a  southerly  trending 
country  road  could  be  found  that  would  take  the 
command  clear  around  the  once  lively  little  town 
and  enable  it  to  enter  Belleview,  and  it  was  when 
they  reached  this  cross-road  that  the  guide  had 
reined  in  and  coolly  said:  "Is  it  your  wish  to 
approach  Belleview  from  the  east  or  west,  sir?" 

"It  was  my  wish  to  surround  it,"  said  Wing. 
"Perhaps  the  west  would  be  the  better.  We  could 
then  cut  off  anybody  attempting  to  gallop  away 
toward  Buckner's  pickets." 

Halted  close  to  the  northern  skirts  of  the  town, 
with  barns  and  farm  buildings  on  both  sides  of 
the  pike,  the  four  sat  in  saddle  and  listened. 

The  night  was  still,  cool,  and  sparkling.  A  light 
snow  had  apparently  been  sifting  down  during 
the  day,  for  the  fields  now  spread  out  before 
them  white  and  fleecy.  All  about  the  village  was 
seemingly  peaceful  and  wrapped  in  slumber.  Up 
to  the  north,  the  way  they  came,  the  watch-dogs 
were  still  barking,  for  farms  lay  thick  along  the 
highway  south  of  the  range.  Captain  Wing 
seemed  surprised,  even  uneasy.  "I  half  expected 
to  find  cavalry  videttes  by  this  time,"  said  he. 


BEATEN,  IF  NOT  BETRAYED  101 

"They  surely  would  have  tfem  V/ut  if  'the  town 
were  occupied." 

"One  would  think  so,"  was  the  iion-GOirimitrtal 
answer,  and  then  one  of  the  attendant  troopers 
turned  suddenly  in  saddle  and  held  up  a  warning 
hand.  From  under  a  clump  of  timber  that  stood 
by  the  roadside  not  more  than  one  hundred  yards 
ahead  and  close  to  the  roadside  there  came  the 
loud,  challenging  neigh  of  a  tethered  horse,  and 
instantly  Wing  bent  forward,  gripped  with  gaunt- 
leted  hand  the  nostrils  of  his  charger,  and  signaled 
to  his  party  to  do  the  same.  One  trooper,  a  trifle 
slow  or  clumsy,  failed,  for  an  answering  neigh 
had  suddenly  begun  and  was  as  suddenly  choked. 
Then  over  among  a  bunch  of  farm  buildings 
east  of  the  highway  a  mastiff  lifted  up  a  powerful 
voice  and  bow-wowed  loud  and  long.  Then  there 
were  sounds  as  of  stamping  hoofs  down  closer  to 
the  edge  of  the  town,  and  next — all  four  plainly 
saw  it— a  tiny  light  flickered  and  flared  a  minute 
under  the  trees,  revealing  dimly  the  shapes  of  two 
saddled  horses,  then  as  suddenly  blew  out.  Some 
body,  possibly  to  consult  a  watch,  had  struck  a 
light.  "That's  a  cavalry  picket  sure  as  death," 
whispered  the  trooper  excitedly,  but  Wing  turned 
on  his  guide. 

"Do  you  know  who  they  are — or  from  where?" 
he  muttered,  in  eager  question. 

"No,"  was  the  low,  prompt  answer. 

"Back  to  the  squadron!"  ordered  Wing  in  a 
whisper.  "No  noise  now,"  he  added.  And  not 
until  well  out  of  earshot  was  the  pace  quickened. 
Yet,  despite  precaution,  one  iron-shod  hoof  struck 


102  NORMAN  HOLT 

aslant  upon  "a  'stonv  and  as  though  from  flint 
and  steel  a  spark  flew  into  space,  and  Towser's 
angry  yow-yow  redoubled.  "Those  fellows  at  the 
roadside  must  have  seen  it,"  muttered  Wing. 
"Trot!  Ride  ahead,  orderly.  Tell  the  first  lieu 
tenant  to  mount  and  lead  the  squadron  into  the 
cross-road  to  the  west — to  the  -west,  do  you  hear? 
We'll  overtake  them  later.  Halt,  now,  you  other 
two.  We've  got  to  stay  here  and  drive  'em  back 
if  any  of  them  come  sneaking  out  to  see  who  we 
are.  Rein  out  to  the  right  and  left— off  the  road— 
and  keep  quiet." 

For  a  moment  the  only  sound  along  the  high 
way  was  the  dull  thud  of  the  orderly's  hoof-beats 
as  he  trotted  swiftly  away.  Even  that  was  partly 
drowned  by  the  clamor  of  the  mastiff  now  scout 
ing  the  field  toward  the  fence.  Norman,  silent 
and  stern,  reined  round  behind  the  captain  as 
though  to  confront  possible  comers.  He  was 
right.  The  picket  was  aroused,  and  two  shadowy 
forms  of  riders  were  soon  seen  coming  cautiously 
up  the  pike.  Presently  voices  were  faintly  audible, 
and  the  waiting  trio  sat  with  bated  breath,  the 
captain  with  his  revolver  drawn. 

"I  tell  you  I  saw  the  spark  and  heard  the 
hoof-beat,"  a  low,  yet  excited  voice  was  saying. 
"Some  fella  came  down  'long  hyuh  just  to  spy 
and  see  who  we  were." 

"Well,  he's  gone  now,  and  we're  not  supposed 
to  follow  single  spies  all  over  Kaintuck.  I'm 
goin'  back,"  was  the  impatient  answer  in  a 
whang  Norman  Holt  could  have  recognized  the 
world  over.  It  was  the  voice  of  a  hostler  who 


BEATEN,  IF  NOT  BETRAYED  103 

had  cared  for  his  father's  horses  a  hundred  times 
at  the  old  Southern  inn.  The  other  voice  was 
that  of  a  stranger. 

"Go  back,  if  you  want  to,"  was  the  retort. 
"I  don't  go  till  I  know  more  about  what  was 
out  hyuh.  You  tell  the  boys  to  watch  out  'n  case 
I  want  'em." 

But  the  stableman  would  not  even  ride  back 
alone. 

"Th'  ain't  anybody  out  this  way,"  said  he. 
"'cep  some  of  our  fellas  scoutin'.  Come  back,  I 
tell  you!"  And  Asholt's  unstable  soldier  was 
obviously  demoralized  by  the  mystic  terrors  of  the 
dark. 

"By  heaven!"  muttered  Wing,  between  his  set 
teeth,  half-turning  to  his  silent  guide.  "If  we 
could  only  nab  these  two,  without  noise,  we  could 
find  out  everything  I  need  to  know — and  then  you 
wouldn't  have  to  guide." 

But  Holt  neither  spoke  nor  moved.  He  was 
listening  with  painful  interest  to  the  tones  that, 
even  though  unmusical,  clownish,  spoke  to  him 
of  old  and  happy  days — of  the  loved  and  joyous 
home.  He  and  the  captain  were  lurking  in  the 
shadows  of  a  thick  clump  of  timber  on  the  west 
side  of  the  road.  Fuller,  their  other  trooper,  was 
somewhere  invisible,  on  the  other  side.  The  two 
Southern  horsemen  were  by  this  time  within 
thirty  paces.  Being  out  on  the  highway  the  forms 
could  be  seen  in  the  faint  moonlight.  Again  the 
hostler  spoke: 

"Like  as  not  it's  jus'  some  fella  outen'  the 
colonel's  escort  been  to  see  his  folks  an'  come 


104  NORMAN  HOLT 

around  the  long  way  from  Belleview."  And  Nor 
man  saw  the  captain's  pistol  hand  slowly  rising, 
heard  a  muffled  click  of  the  lock,  and  his  heart 
began  to  throb  and  bound.  But  as  slowly  the 
hand  was  lowered.  The  captain  shook  his  head. 
It  would  only  arouse  the  whole  detachment, 
wherever  they  might  be— only  alarm  the  whole 
neighborhood,  and  spoil  the  scheme  that  brought 
him  and  his  ready  squadron  so  far  forward  into 
hostile  territory.  If  only  something  might  happen 
to  tempt  the  two  half  a  mile  farther  out!  By 
this  time  the  squadron  should  be  in  the  saddle 
and  filing  off  the  pike  into  the  cross-road. 
Surely!  for  now  the  bark  of  half  a  dozen  dogs 
burst  upon  the  ear,  and  the  stranger  of  the  two 
approaching  horsemen  impatiently  shook  his  rein 
and  touched  spur  to  his  mount.  "I  must  see 
what's  going  on  to  make  all  that  row,"  said  he, 
and  fearlessly  cantered  ahead,  deaf  to  the  entreat 
ies  of  the  hostler,  who,  reining  to  a  halt,  gazed 
after  him  in  dismay— gazed  only  a  minute,  for  all 
on  a  sudden  a  revolver  was  poked  in  his  face  and 
a  stern  voice  muttered:  "One  sound  and  you're 
a  dead  man !"  A  practiced  hand  lashed  his  wrists 
together  on  the  cantle,  a  shadowy  figure  took 
his  bridle  rein,  another,  pistol  in  hand,  rode  on 
his  left.  A  third  trotted  away  northward,  let 
down  a  bar  or  two,  and  signaled  to  the  trio  to 
follow.  Another  minute  and  they  were  fox  trot 
ting  through  fields  to  the  northwest,  away  from 
the  pike,  and  in  ten  minutes  had  intercepted  the 
squadron  on  the  cross-road. 
"Now,  Mr.  Holt,"  said  the  captain,  "guide  on, 


BEATEN,  IF  NOT  BETRAYED  105 

around  town  to  Belleview,  while  I  pump  this 
bucolic  party.  If  he  isn't  scared  out  of  his  wits 
he  can  relieve  you." 

Another  ten  minutes,  with  four-thirty  close  at 
hand,  the  squadron  was  jogging  in  column  of 
twos  southward  through  a  country  lane.  Away 
to  the  eastward,  half  a  mile,  two  twinkling  lights 
had  popped  out  from  the  windows  of  the  sleeping 
town,  but  not  a  sound  had  reached  them.  The 
furious  clamor  of  the  dogs  had  died  away.  Nor 
man,  with  a  sergeant  and  three  men,  formed  the 
far  advance,  no  guard  now-  at  his  bridle  rein. 
Behind  them  a  few  yards  came  Wing  with  his 
trembling  prisoner,  closely  watched.  Even  though 
his  hands  -were  tied,  his  tongue  was  loose.  He 
was  ready  to  tell  anything.  What  Wing  wanted 
to  know  was  who  was  at  Belleview,  and  he  bade 
the  prisoner  lower  his  voice  that  others  might  not 
hear  the  reply.  Only  to  Wing's  listening  ear  it 
was  audible.  Colonel  Carrington  of  General  John 
ston's  staff,  Captain  Harrod  Summers  of  General 
Buckner's,  and  another  whose  name  he  didn't 
know.  Was  Dr.  Holt  at  home?  Certainly — saw 
him  yesterday!  Could  he  guide  them  by  the 
shortest  way  to  the  manor?  Certainly,  this  was 
the  shortest  way.  They'd  be  there  in  less  than 
ten  minutes. 

Anybody  there  beyond  the  doctor  and  his  three 
guests?  Nobody  but  the  escort— 'bout  a  dozen 
cavalry.  Look!  There  were  lights  at  Belleview 
now,  and,  nodding  across  the  field,  the  prisoner 
indicated  the  direction,  and  there  southeastward 
lay  the  famous  old  homestead.  What  troops  were 


106  NORMAN  HOLT 

these  in  Asholt,  and  how  many,  was  the  next 
question?  Oh,  there  might  be  a  right  smart 
crowd,  a  hundred,  he  reckoned ;  and  now,  giving 
orders  that  the  man  should  be  carefully  watched, 
Wing  spurred  to  the  front. 

"Is  it  the  first  road  to  the  left  we  are  to  take? 
Does  that  bring  us  straight  to  Belle  view?"  he 
demanded  of  the  silent  guide.  Without  other 
answer  Norman  bowed.  "Ride  back,  orderly," 
said  Wing,  a  strange  excitement  in  his  voice. 
"Tell  Mr.  Fanning  to  close  at  once  on  the  head 
of  column!  My  God!"  he  muttered  to  himself, 
"a  hundred  cavalry  in  the  town,  and  nothing  said 
about  it !  What's  got  to  be  done  must  be  done 
quickly."  Bitterly  now  he  wished  he  had  nabbed 
and  silenced  that  daring  single  scout  who  had 
gone  northward  along  the  pike. 

A  trooper  came  galloping  from  the  rear.  "Cap 
tain,"  said  he,  "Lieutenant  Wood  says  they're 
rousing  up  back  there  in  town.  He  heard  a  bugle, 
and  we  could  see  more  lights.  He  thinks  they've 
got  wind  of  us  somehow." 

"The  devil  you  say!"  growled  Wing,  glancing 
angrily  back.  Yes,  where  only  two  lights  had 
been  seen  half  a  dozen  were  twinkling  now,  and 
one  or  two  dancing  about  like  will-o'-the-wisps. 
"Trot!"  he  cried.  "Pass  the  word  to  keep  closed 
and  come  on !  Mr.  Holt,  I'll  have  to  trouble  you 
to  ride  ahead  here  on  my  left.  Ah!  Here's  the 
cross-road  now.  Head  of  column  to  the  left! 
Come  on,  men;  -we  haven't  a  second  to  spare!" 

Loud  rose  the  clash  and  clatter  of  iron-shod 
hoofs,  as  the  column  swept  rapidly  round  the 


BEATEN,  IP  NOT  BETRAYED  107 

drive.  Then  loud  and  clear  rang  out  the  captain's 
spirited  orders.  "Move  right  on,  lads!  Circle  the 
house — surround  it  on  every  side!  Mr.  Wood, 
gallop  to  the  stable  and  nab  the  guard  before 
they  can  be  out!" 

But  now  was  most  unlooked-for  welcome !  All 
on  a  sudden  from  four  lower  windows  rang  out 
the  report  of  carbines,  and  one  poor  lad,  with  a 
yell  of  agony,  clapped  hand  to  his  side  and 
plunged  headlong  out  of  the  saddle.  A  snorting, 
riderless  horse  went  tearing  round  the  lawn. 
From  other  windows  poured  other  shots.  Furious 
with  disappointment  the  captain  leaped  from  his 
saddle,  shouted  for  a  dozen  men  to  follow  him, 
and  rushed  for  the  massive  door  of  the  mansion. 
They  might  as  well  have  kicked  at  a  stone  wall, 
and  what  made  matters  worse,  carbines  were  now- 
blazing  at  every  window.  From  some  point 
within  the  besieged  were  able  to  land  a  few  shots 
among  the  heaving,  swarming  dozen  at  the  cap 
tain's  back,  and  two  more  poor  fellows  went 
down,  pale  and  groaning.  "Try  the  rear  door! 
Come  on!"  yelled  Wing,  and  led  the  dash  around 
to  the  back  of  the  big  Kentucky  house.  There 
they  met  with  what  at  first  seemed  better  success. 
With  a  beam  for  a  battering  ram,  they  burst  in 
the  flimsy  door,  and  found  themselves  groping  in 
a  pitch-dark  hallway,  a  veritable  cul  de  sac,  and 
Wing,  raging,  ordered  his  men  back  until  they 
could  get  a  light. 

All  this  while,  as  though  in  a  daze,  hardly 
knowing  what  he  did,  hardly  crediting  the  evi 
dence  of  his  senses,  Norman  Holt,  flinging  himself 


108  NORMAN  HOLT 

from  the  saddle,  was  crouching  in  a  little  dump 
of  shrubbery  within  the  encircling  driveway.  He 
listened  to  the  wild  shouts,  the  rapid  shots  of  the 
besiegers,  and  noted  the  cool,  steady  response  on 
the  part  of  the  besieged.  He  heard  Wing's  voice 
shouting  imprecation  and  orders  at  the  rear  of 
the  house.  A  soldier  with  a  carbine  rushed  past 
him,  knelt  and  took  aim  at  the  second  window 
from  the  main  doorway,  pulled  the  trigger,  and 
fired,  and  Norman  saw  him  begin  to  reload  the 
ill-balanced  and  almost  obsolete  weapon,  then  sud 
denly  drop  it,  clap  his  hands  over  the  abdomen, 
stagger  blindly  into  the  little  patch  of  trees,  and 
sink  down  in  misery  almost  at  his  feet.  Then,  in 
a  frenzy  of  grief  and  rage,  Norman  heard  his  own 
name  shouted  from  lip  to  lip.  "Holt  wanted! 
Holt  wanted!  Where's  Holt?  Captain  wants 
Holt  at  the  back  of  the  house!  Quick!"  but  he 
stood  rooted  to  the  spot.  Even  for  the  love 
of  the  flag  he  could  not  lift  hand  against  his 
father  in  that  father's  house.  Then  came  another 
cry. 

"Mount!  Mount!  Lively!  A  hull  regiment's 
coming!  Get  the  captain's  horse  to  him,  quick!" 
shouted  a  sergeant  as  he  sprang  into  saddle. 
Here,  there,  everywhere  now,  darting  through  the 
shrubbery,  men  were  rushing  for  their  startled, 
snorting  chargers.  Up  the  road  toward  town 
rose  the  tantarara  of  the  trumpets.  "Mount, 
you,  or  you're  a  goner!"  yelled  an  officer  in  Nor 
man's  ear.  Then  he  recognized  him,  and,  with  a 
still  louder  shout,  cried  out,  "Here's  the  guide, 
men!  Here's  the  guide!  Now,  you!  You  led  us 


BEATEN  IF  NOT  BETRAYED  109 

into  this  scrape,  d— -n  you !  Lead  us  out,  quick 
—and  the  safest  way!"  This  time  a  hot  muz 
zle  well-nigh  burned  the  soldier's  skin,  as  Pan 
ning  laid  his  revolver  on  Norman's  temple. 


CHAPTER  IX 

HER  FACE  AGAIN 

There  was  wrath  in  the  Union  camp  when 
what  had  been  Wing's  squadron  dribbled  back  to 
Bardstown.  It  had  set  forth  strong,  compact, 
and,  to  all  outward  appearance,  confident.  Men 
in  the  line  felt  distinctly  envious  of  these  troopers 
who  could  ride  so  buoyantly  away  into  the  night, 
bent  on  deeds  that  were  to  teach  the  foe  to  re 
pent  this  invasion  of  a  would-be  neutral  State. 
There  was  no  envying  of  the  dejected  fragments 
that  came  straggling  back.  First  to  arrive  was 
the  main  body,  probably  a  little  more  than  half 
the  original  force,  led  now  by  Lieutenant  Fanning, 
and  bringing  with  them  one  prisoner  and  a  dozen 
different  tales  of  disaster.  There  was  but  a  single 
point  on  which  everybody  seemed  united.  Disaster 
always  demanding  a  victim,  the  whole  blame  was 
rested  by  them  on  the  shoulders  of  their  treacher 
ous  guide,  who  had  purposely  led  them  by  a 
round-about  road,  had  given  warning  to  the 
enemy's  pickets  in  front  of  Asholt,  and  secreted 
himself  in  the  shrubbery  when  the  attack  began. 
Cowed,  said  they,  by  the  lieutenant's  pistol,  he 
had  guided  them  homeward  a  much  shorter  way. 
(At  least,  so  it  seemed,  and  certainly  it  took  far 
less  time.)  But  they  had  left  behind  them  their 


HER  FACE  AGAIN  Ul 

brave  captain,  two  lieutenants,  and  half  the  men, 
some  killed,  some  wounded,  but  all  doubtless  in 
the  enemy's  hands,  and  had  had  a  terrible  ride 
for  it  getting  back. 

Some  of  the  men  did  not  scruple  to  declare  they 
had  cut  their  way  through  overpowering  forces 
of  Southern  horse,  who  covered  the  country  in 
all  directions.  All  maintained  that  a  great  army 
was  advancing  upon  them  from  beyond  the  Har- 
din  hills,  and  that  the  sooner  they  sought  shelter 
in  the  fortifications  of  Louisville  the  safer  they 
would  be.  Some  few  went  so  far,  in  fine,  as  the 
fortifications  themselves,  without  the  intermediate 
formality  of  reporting  to  a  commander  at  Bards- 
town  or  other  point.  But  this,  too,  was  very  ear 
ly  in  the  war  days,  before  the  Western  American 
had  begun  to  realize  that  the  time  had  arrived 
when  he  could  by  any  human  possibility  be  called 
upon  to  obey  any  other  will  than  his  own,  unless 
he  felt  like  it.  The  armies  of  the  North  had  yet 
to  learn  the  lesson  of  discipline  and  subordination. 
The  day  was  fast  coming  when,  as  individuals, 
they  could  hardly  believe  they  were  the  same  who 
swarmed  into  Kentucky  during  that  fall  of  '61. 

It  was  a  rough  ride  for  Wing's  squadron, 
but,  just  as  Wing  had  foretold,  it  was  going 
hard  with  Norman  Holt,  held  to  be  responsi 
ble  for  the  entire  failure.  He  had  been  turned 
over,  a  prisoner,  by  Lieutenant  Fanning  to  the 
commanding  officer  of  the  Union  camp,  had  been 
arraigned  before  that  high  official  the  following 
morning,  by  which  time  a  dozen  more  of  the 
squadron  had  come  riding  or  footing  it  leisurely 


NORMAN  HOLT 

in,  saying  disdainful  things  of  the  comrades  who 
had  run  away  and  left  them  "to  fight  the  whole 
gang" ;  but  there  were  no  officers  with  these  strag 
glers,  and  while  what  they  said  as  to  being  left 
was  entirely  true,  the  weight  of  testimony  went 
against  them,  as  it  did  against  Holt,  who  had  no 
friend  at  court,  who  had  not  a  soul  to  aid  him 
when  accused  of  deliberate  treachery.  The  one 
officer  to  be  heard  upon  the  subject  was  Lieuten 
ant  Burnett  Malloy,  whose  influence  was  "dead 
against  the  accused."  Of  the  squadron,  Lieuten 
ant  Fanning  and  a  sergeant  testified  that  they 
heard  Captain  Wing  say  he  expected  treachery  on 
the  part  of  the  guide,  and  had  heard  him  warn 
Holt  that  if  they  failed  it  should  go  hard  with 
him.  There  was  no  one  to  speak  for  the  guide. 
The  colonel  listened  in  gloomy  silence  to  the 
statements  of  the  various  persons  interrogated, 
and  when  the  brief  preliminary  examination  was 
over,  despite  Holt's  protestations  of  innocence 
and  his  plea  not  to  be  put  under  guard,  orders 
were  issued  that,  for  reasons  concerning  the  per 
sonal  safety  of  the  accused  soldier,  he  should  be 
sent  forthwith  to  Louisville  under  heavy  escort, 
there  to  be  tried  for  his  crime.  To  keep  him  an 
other  hour  at  the  front  was  simply  to  invite 
lynching. 

That  was  a  black  night  in  the  career  of  Norman 
Holt,  but  no  blacker  than  the  Christmas  Day 
just  gone  by.  In  bitterness  of  heart  unspeakable 
he  found  himself  again  and  again  recalling  the 
warmth,  the  gladness,  the  hospitality  of  the 
Christmas  of  a  year  ago,  his  father's  words  of  wel- 


HER  FACE  AGAIN  113 

come,  his  genial  toast  to  one  and  all—"  Peace  on 
earth  and  good  will  toward  men,  and  maj  we 
meet  again,  one  and  all,  within  these  walls  an 
other  year/'  Good  God !  What  had  that  meeting 
been!  What  had  not  loyalty  cost  him!  And  to 
what  end— to  what  good?  Only  his  own  abase 
ment! 

On  a  rude  platform  car,  surrounded  by  armed 
paen,  who  had  heard  only  the  cruel  stories  at 
his  cost,  Norman  was  jolted  back  to  the  junction, 
and  thence  northward  to  Louisville.  The  dawn 
of  another  day  was  upon  them  as  the  party 
climbed  stiffly  to  the  ground  in  the  crowded  sta 
tion  yard.  He  had  spent  nearly  forty-eight  hours 
without  sleep,  was  broken  in  heart,  health,  and 
hope.  He  felt  that  fate  had  arrayed  all  her  forces 
against  him,  that  now  he  had  killed  forever  the 
possibility  of  his  being  restored  to  his  father's 
love  and  regard.  He  felt  that  henceforth  he  would 
be  considered  only  as  a  son  who  had  purposely, 
stealthily,  led  these  invaders  to  his  father's  hearth 
stone  in  the  hope  of  capturing  and  carrying  him 
off  a  prisoner.  Who  could  have  failed  to  hear  the 
shouts  for  Holt— Holt,  to  come  and  show  the 
way  into  the  rear  of  the  loved  old  mansion?  He 
had  done  his  duty  to  the  flag  he  had  sworn  to 
follow  and  defend,  against  every  impulse  and  at 
any  cost,  and  now  the  protection  of  that  flag 
was  denied  him.  He  was  treated  as  a  felon  and 
a  criminal  by  those  whom  he  had  striven  to  serve. 
He  had  come  now  to  the  very  point  of  asking 
himself  whether  it  were  not,  after  all,  a  just  re 
ward  for  having  decided  against  kith  and  kin; 
8 


114  NORMAN  HOLT 

whether  it  were  not  wiser  at  last  to  renounce  the 
service  of  the  United  States  and  at  first  opportu 
nity  to  make  his  way  to  his  father's  feet,  and  in 
tears  and  contrition  to  beg  again  his  love  and 
trust,  to  proclaim  his  repentance,  and  to  seek 
only  to  die  in  the  ranks  of  the  South.  He  was 
sitting  drearily,  his  head  on  his  hands,  when 
roughly  bidden  to  arise  and  follow.  He  was  cold, 
stiff,  and  sore,  but  a  numbness  seemed  to  be 
overcoming  it  all.  In  apathy  he  suffered  himself 
to  be  led  away  to  the  quarters  of  the  provost- 
marshal,  once  a  homestead  where  his  blithe  young 
voice  and  lightsome  step  had  been  welcomed  time 
and  again,  yet  he  took  no  heed.  He  never  seemed 
to  recognize  it.  They  bade  him  sit  and  warm 
himself  before  a  blazing  fire  in  a  big,  square,  troop- 
littered  room,  and  mechanically  he  obeyed,  falling 
almost  immediately  into  the  same  attitude  of  ut 
ter  dejection  from  which  they  had  roused  him  on 
the  car.  But  when  an  hour  later  they  sought  to 
stir  him  again,  some  merciful  soul  having  suggested 
coffee  before  taking  the  prisoner  into  the  pres 
ence  of  the  provost-marshal,  they  were  power 
less.  He  had  sunk  to  the  floor  and  lay  in  a  stu 
por  that  refused  to  yield  even  to  harsh  measures. 
With  scared  face  the  sergeant  went  out  for  help, 
and  returned  with  a  surgeon  on  duty  at  the  hos 
pital  across  the  way.  His  verdict  was  imme 
diate,  comprehensive,  characteristic: 

"This  man'll  never  live  to  be  hanged.  Take 
him  to  the  hospital  right  off." 

And  so  it  happened  that  when  the  regiment 
marched  with  others  to  re-enforce  the  command 


HER  FACE  AGAIN  115 

of  old  "Major  Slowtrot,"  *  dispatched  against  the 
fiery  Tennesseean  who,  leading  his  men  through 
Cumberland  Gap,  was  menacing  Central  Ken 
tucky  opposite  Mill  Springs,  loyal  faces  in  Com 
pany  "C"  looked  vainly  for  the  bright,  soldierly 
fellow  they  longed  to  hail  as  first  lieutenant— 
Private  Holt — who,  accused  of  treachery  in  delib 
erately  misleading  a  scouting  force,  giving  warn 
ing  to  the  enemy  and  betraying  three  officers  and 
thirty  men  into  their  hands,  lay  writhing  in  the 
grasp  of  brain  fever  in  hospital.  The  man  whom 
the  company  might  have  considered  but  small 
loss,  now  that  they  were  beyond  the  reach  of 
those  commodities  with  which  his  bounty  and 
wealth  had  so  often  supplied  them,  was  most 
unwillingly  trudging  along  with  the  column  and 
cursing  the  luck  that  postponed  the  trial  of  Pri 
vate  Holt,  on  which  occasion  he  had  promised 
himself— and  the  judge-advocates  of  the  depart 
ment — he  would  be  present  with  highly  important 
testimony.  At  no  time  had  he  been  over-anxious 
to  come  within  range  of  hostile  bullet,  and  at  no 
time  had  he  ever  been  so  anxious  to  sojourn  in 
Louisville.  Strange,  indeed,  was  the  turn  of  for 
tune  that,  sending  his  rival,  Norman  Holt,  to 
long  languishing  within  hospital  walls,  brought 
hither,  too,  only  a  few  days  later,  the  girl  on 
whose  account  his  hatred  of  Holt  had  become  so 
deadly. 

Young  Lane,  stricken  down  by  some  kind  of 
camp  fever  while  at  the  front,  had  managed  to 

*The  old  cavalry  pet  name  for  Major-General  George  H. 
Thomas. 


116  NORMAN  HOLT 

elude  the  vigilance  of  attendants,  break  out  of 
bounds,  and  bring  on  a  relapse  so  severe  that  it 
was  deemed  best  to  send  him  back  to  the  per 
manent  hospital  at  Louisville,  and  thither  he  was 
borne  as  the  regiment  marched  away.  Letters 
were  written  direct  to  Major  Lane,  judge-advo 
cate  of  the  department,  who  was  stationed  East, 
He  could  not  be  spared,  but  down  came  his  wife 
and  daughter,  the  mother  and  sister  of  the  reckv 
less  young  soldier,  and  almost  the  first  thing  to 
flit  across  Holt's  returning  consciousness  was  the 
vision  of  the  face  he  loved— which  looked,  yet 
never  saw  him  at  all. 

Nor  could  she  be  blamed!  Severe  illness  had 
greatly  changed  him.  Neither  Mrs.  Lane  nor  her 
daughter  recognized  in  the  gaunt,  haggard,  fuzzy- 
bearded  lad,  lying  so  white  and  still  across  the 
big,  airy  room,  the  brave-hearted  fellow  whose 
welcome  home  they  had  attended  the  year  agone. 
But  he  saw,  knew,  marvelled,  and  importuned  the 
steward  for  information.  "Certainly,  that  was 
Lane's  folks  from  Cincinnati,  and  Lane  was  very 
ill,  too  much  so  to  be  moved,  and  the  doctors 
thought  the  case  most  serious.  The  ladies  were 
come  to  take  him  home,  but  stayed  to  nurse 
him."  That  was  what  Lieutenant  Malloy,  it 
might  be  shrewdly  suspected,  would  be  glad  to 
do.  He  was  anything  but  fond  of  hard  marching 
over  frosty  roads.  January  was  gone  when  Nor 
man  Holt  began  to  feel  strength  returning  to 
him.  He  had  lost  interest  in  a  campaign  that 
brought  nothing  but  misery  and  misunderstand 
ing,  but  the  sight  of  her  face  revived  all,  or  at 


HER  FACE  AGAIN  117 

least  much  of  all,  the  old  longing,  and  love  brings 
life  and  kindles  ambition  and  will  and  determina 
tion. 

New  cases  were  coming  every  day  from  the 
front.  Other  buildings  were  filling  with  the  sick, 
though  the  army  entering  Kentucky  was  hardy 
as  any  ever  sent  to  the  field  from  first  to  last  of 
that  long,  trying  war.  And  when  the  news  came 
that  Buckner  had  let  go  at  Bowling  Green  and 
was  falling  back  to  the  Cumberland,  great  was 
the  rejoicing  among  the  Union  camps  and  great 
were  the  accessions  at  the  hospitals,  for  Buckner 
cared  not  to  be  burdened  with  wounded,  and  so 
those  too  severely  hit  to  be  able  to  hobble  were 
left  behind  for  the  pursuing  Yank.  Among  those 
brought  in  were  two  men  of  Wing's  squadron, 
who  had  been  badly  shot  in  the  assault  on  Belle- 
view,  were  captured  by  the  enemy,  and  after  a 
time  trundled  over  to  Bowling  Green.  Now, 
barely  convalescent,  these  two  troopers  had  been 
turned  over  to  the  care  of  the  division  surgeon 
at  the  main  hospital,  and  one  day,  soon  after 
Holt  was  able  to  sit  up  an  hour  or  so,  he  saw 
them  brought  in  and  noted  the  queer  look  on  the 
steward's  face  as,  answering  his  languid  question, 
that  official  replied: 

"Two  of— that  squadron  that  got  cut  up  trying 
to  capture  a  batch  of  reb  officers  visiting  at — 
well,  you  know  more  about  it  than  I  do,  unless 
everybody  lies." 

So  even  here,  thought  Norman,  the  belief  was 
general  that  he  had  deliberately  led  that  luckless 
column  into  ambuscade.  It  made  him  shrink  the 


118  NORMAN  HOLT 

more  from  his  fellows,  yet  invested  these  wounded 
troopers  with  keen  and  pathetic  interest.  To  the 
young  and  pure-hearted  it  is  a  source  of  bitter 
sorrow  to  be  misjudged.  With  advancing  years 
one  gains  philosophy,  or  enforced  endurance,  with 
the  discovery  that  life  is  made  up  of  misunder 
standings.  Recovery  might  have  been  even  more 
remote  in  Norman's  case,  however,  but  for  the 
presence  within  the  same  walls,  though  now  in 
different  wards,  of  these  two  men  whom  he 
longed  to  meet  and  assure  of  his  utter  innocence, 
and  the  occasional  coming  of  this  one  girl  whom 
he  had  learned  in  happier  days  so  fondly  to  love. 
At  both  entrances  to  his  ward,  however,  night  and 
day  there  stood  sentries  with  gleaming  bayonets. 
There  -was  only  one  steward  or  attendant  who 
seemed  kindly  disposed  toward  the  lonely  pa 
tient.  Even  his  fellow-convalescents  looked  upon 
him  with  but  thinly  veiled  aversion,  which  in  his 
pride  he  never  sought  to  palliate.  The  overworked 
surgeons  barely  noticed  him  on  their  hurried 
rounds,  but  this  steward  took  special  charge  over 
his  case  and  was  apparently  bent  on  getting 
him  to  talk,  "to  come  out  of  yourself,"  as  he 
expressed  it,  and,  though  too  sad  and  worn  to 
feel  like  chatting,  Norman  was  grateful  for  the 
kindliness  and  interest— grateful  that  there  was 
one  friend  of  whom  he  could  seek  information.  It 
was  through  this  humble  soldier  he  heard  from 
day  to  day  of  the  gradual  betterment  in  the  con 
dition  of  the  wounded  troopers,  and  could  also 
learn  the  hour  at  which  the  ladies  were  expected 
to  arrive.  They  spent  no  more  nights  by  young 


HER  FACE  AGAIN 

Lane's  bedside  now,  but  generally  came  in  the 
morning  about  nine  o'clock,  and,  passing  through 
the  broad  corridor  close  to  the  open  door  of 
Norman's  ward,  were  ushered  into  the  opposite 
room.  The  momentary  glimpse  thus  obtained 
of  her  was  almost  the  only  sunshine  that  came 
into  his  life. 

Then,  some  ten  days  after  their  first  appearance, 
fortune  favored  him  in  the  unexpected  way  in 
which  fortune's  favors  generally  come.  Among 
the  patients  in  the  opposite  ward  were  a  few 
whose  fever  had  resulted  in  delirium.  One  night, 
all  on  a  sudden,  with  a  howl  of  terror,  a  poor 
fellow  came  bounding  into  the  corridor,  and  the 
sentry  over  Norman's  door  actually  dropped  his 
gun  and  ran,  yelling,  down-stairs,  frightened  out 
of  his  wits  by  the  apparition.  Two  attendants 
pursued  the  fleeing  patient,  leaving  their  sick  to 
their  own  devices,  and  Norman,  sitting  up  in  bed, 
•wide  awake,  was  suddenly  aware  of  a  haggard 
young  face  peering  cautiously  into  the  corridor 
from  the  opposite  door.  Away  out  along  the  gal 
lery,  with  much  outcry  and  excitement,  the  fugi 
tive  was  run  down,  and  was  being  overpowered  by 
the  rush  of  attendants.  For  the  moment  no  one 
in  authority  was  left  in  either  ward,  and  it  was 
patent  to  Norman  Holt's  keen  eyes  that  here 
was  a  patient  attempting  escape.  What  was  more, 
even  in  the  changed,  haggard  face  he  recognized 
Theodore  Lane. 

By  this  time,  too,  strength  had  measurably  re 
turned,  and  excitement  lent  him  more.  It  was 
the  work  of  but  a  minute  to  slip  into  the 


120  NORMAN  HOLT 

loose  hospital  shoes  and  trousers  with  which  he 
had  been  provided,  to  hasten  to  the  doorway, 
and  there,  under  the  light  of  the  swinging 
lamp  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  just  in  time  to 
confront  the  younger  and  weaker  man,  Norman 
Holt  looked  squarely  into  the  eyes  of  Daisy's 
brother,  with  only  the  quiet  question,  "Where 
are  you  going,  Theodore?" 

It  was  the  voice,  not  the  face,  the  rattle-brained 
youngster  knew  at  once,  and  realized,  as  he  had 
done  time  and  again,  that  here  was  his  master. 

"Damn  it,"  he  feebly  whined,  "let  me  out  of 
this  hellhole!  I  will  go,  Holt!  You've  no  right 
to  stop  me!  You " 

"But  I  do  stop  you!  Sergeant  of  the  guard!" 
he  called,  in  low,  controlled  voice,  yet  in  the  old 
authoritative  tone,  for  he  heard  the  clank  of  rifle 
butts  and  the  sound  of  excited  talk  below.  "A 
fever  patient  is  loose.  Come  up  here  with  two  or 
three  men." 

And  the  sergeant  came,  just  as  the  attendants, 
with  their  fighting  lunatic,  struggled  back  to  the 
corridor.  Lane  miserably  burst  into  tears  and 
meekly  succumbed,  being  led  back  without  protest 
or  resistance.  Then  the  sergeant  stood  facing 
Holt. 

"This  is  a  queer  streak,"  said  he.  "You're  no 
private  soldier.  You're  the  only  man  we  are 
ordered  to  guard,  and  here  you  are  acting  as 
guard  of  the  ward  when  our  own  was  scared 
off  his  post.  We've  got  to  put  on  another  man, 
for  that  fellow's  completely  demoralized.  I'll  teH 
the  officer  of  the  day  about  this  to-morrow.** 


HER  PACE  AGAIN  181 

It  seemed  he  did,  and  that  others  told  Mrs. 
Lane,  and  that  Mrs.  Lane  and  her  daughter 
begged  to  be  permitted  to  see  and  thank  the 
brave  young  soldier  who  had  so  befriended  their 
poor,  half-delirious  boy.  And  at  ten  o'clock  next 
morning,  as  Norman  Holt  sat  close  to  the  open 
door,  he  saw  them  coming,  Mrs.  Lane  and  Daisy, 
guided  by  the  steward,  and  bent  on  their  er 
rand  of  gratitude  to  this  unknown  benefactor, 
himself  a  patient.  And  the  lad  felt  his  strength 
going,  felt  all  his  nerves  quivering,  felt  as  though 
the  room  was  swimming  round,  as  he  slowly 
found  his  feet  and  faced  them. 

There  was  a  faint,  barely  articulate  cry  from 
the  daughter's  lips.  It  was  the  mother's  words 
that  roused  the  entire  ward: 

"Norman — Norman  Holt!  You  here?  OH,  my 
poor—  We  thought— we  were  told  you  were— in 
prison." 


CHAPTER  X 

A  RIVAL'S  BLOW 

The  week  that  followed  brought  a  manifest 
change  for  the  better  in  the  conditions  surround 
ing  the  prisoner  patient  in  the  Louisville  General 
Hospital.  Up  to  the  day  he  first  saw  the  face  of 
Daisy  Lane  within  these  whitewashed  walls  Holt 
had  little  care  what  happened  to  him.  Weak, 
helpless,  hopeless,  betrayed  by  fate,  and  aban 
doned,  as  he  thought,  by  God  and  man,  he  had 
fallen  into  such  a  state  of  apathy  as  at  one  time 
to  give  the  medical  officers  abundant  reason  to 
regard  his  recovery  as  more  than  doubtful. 
Whether  they  thought  it  the  easiest  and  most 
natural  solution  of  an  ugly  question,  -whether  in 
the  midst  of  manifold  cares  and  cases  they 
thought  of  it  at  all,  cannot  be  decided.  He  was 
left  entirely  to  himself  to  brood  at  will.  It  -was 
his  superb  strength  and  constitution  that  tided 
him  over  the  worst  days.  It  -was  the  strong  love 
in  his  young  heart  that,  thrilling  through  his 
whole  being  at  sight  of  the  fair  girl  who,  despite 
obstacles  and  ill  report,  had  ever  been  gentle, 
even  sympathetic,  in  her  manner  to  him,  that 
now  aroused  his  will  and  wits  and  the  spirit  of 
fight  that  was  only  latent,  and  so  determined 
him  to  action.  It  was  his  conduct  in  keeping 
other  patients  within  bounds  instead  of  seizing 


A  RIVAL'S  BLOW  113 

ttpon  opportunity  to  escape,  that  attracted  the 
attention  of  the  officers  on  duty  at  the  hospital 
and  commanded  the  almost  reluctant  gratitude 
of  Mrs.  Lane.  In  the  first  impulse  of  womanly 
pity  at  sight  of  his  thin  white  face,  and  while 
still  full  of  eagerness  to  thank  the  soldier  who 
had  saved  her  boy,  she  had  let  fall  the  words 
that  later  she  would  gladly  have  stifled,  and  had 
exhibited  a  degree  of  compassion  irrepressible  at 
the  moment,  but  injudicious  in  view  of  her  plans 
for  Daisy's  future.  Moreover,  she  saw  that  the 
evidence  of  Norman's  suffering  had  a  telling  effect 
upon  her  child;  she  saw  unerringly  the  great 
wave  of  pity,  of  pain,  bewilderment,  even  indigna 
tion  that  welled  up  from  Daisy's  innermost  heart, 
and  realized  that  all  in  one  moment  there  was 
overthrown  the  work  of  patient  months  of 
undoing  at  Norman's  expense  and  of  worldly 
promptings  in  behalf  of  the  absent  Malloy. 

They  had  talked  it  all  over,  her  husband  and 
herself,  before  the  newly  made  major  left  for 
staff  duty  in  front  of  Washington.  They  knew 
and  acknowledged  Daisy's  predilection  for  Nor 
man  Holt,  and  even  mourned  that  they  had 
felt  compelled  to  cold-shoulder  him  out  of  their 
fireside  circle ;  but,  as  has  been  pointed  out,  Lane 
worshiped  wealth  and  influence  and  social  station. 
Lane  had  made  up  his  mind  that  no  matter  which 
side  Norman  might  espouse,  the  war  would  ruin 
him.  Lane  knew  by  midsummer  just  to  the  last 
penny  the  extent  of  poor  Mclntyre's  inroads  upon 
the  little  fortune  left  in  his  hands  for  the  benefit 
of  his  sister's  sons.  Lane  knew  that  barely 


1*4.  &OKMAN  HOLT 

$10,000  remained  to  be  divided  between  the  two, 
and  later,  as  the  war  wore  on,  was  fully  informed 
of  the  breach  between  the  hot-headed  father  and 
his  second  son.  Even  though  reconciliation  were 
later  to  come,  what  would  be  left  of  the  doctor's 
estate  by  the  close  of  the  war?  Like  Virginia  in 
the  East,  Kentucky  promised  to  be  a  grappling 
ground  in  the  West.  Who  could  preserve  Asholt 
from  the  ravages  of  battle?  What  would  Belle- 
view's  innumerable  uncles,  aunties,  and  pickanin 
nies  be  worth  from  a  financial  point  of  view  by  the 
time  the  war  was  ended  and  the  South  subdued? 

No!  The  Holts  had  been  for  years  his  most 
valued  friends,  his  partner's  closest  kindred,  but 
that  beneficent  partner  was  dead  and  buried  now. 
The  fortunes  of  the  Holts  must  soon  follow  suit, 
so  what  sense  was  there  in  sentiment?  A  man 
must  look  out  for  his  own.  Here  was  Senator 
Malloy,  whom  he  had  long  looked  upon  with  dis 
favor  and  dislike,  had  indeed  so  treated  him,  now 
coming  forward  in  his  bluff,  hearty  way,  "men  of 
the  world,  you  know,"  as  he  said,  perfectly  will 
ing  to  let  bygones  be  bygones,  to  forgive  and  for- 
get  his  slights  and  snubs,  ay,  even  to  exert  his 
powerful  political  influence  to  farther  his  interests 
and  asking  nothing  more,  apparently,  than  that 
Lane  should  favor  the  suit  of  his  son.  It  would 
have  been  flying  in  the  face  of  Providence  to  deny 
him,  said  Lane. 

And  yet,  when  he  took  his  little  girl  in  his  arm* 
to  kiss  her  good-by  as  he  hurried  away  to  Wash 
ington,  a&  he  noted  how  wistful  was  the  appeal  in 
her  hnrnid  eyes,  how  piteous  the  quiver  about 


A  RIVAL'S  BLOW  136 

her  pretty  mouth,  he  knew  she  was  thinking  of 
Norman  and  mutely  pleaded  for  justice  for  him. 
She  wouldn't  believe  Malloy's  aspersions!  The 
men  would  never  have  elected  him  their  first 
lieutenant  if  those  stories  had  been  true!  The 
very  card  Malloy  had  played  turned  the  trick 
against  him.  The  news  that  Norman  had  gone 
as  a  private  soldier,  cheated  out  of  his  com 
mission,  had  roused  her  to  such  a  pitch  of  wrath 
and  woe  that  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  the 
child  had  stormed  against  her  parents,  had  de 
clared  them  cruel,  heartless,  wicked,  and,  burst 
ing  into  a  passion  of  tears,  had  fled  to  her  room, 
banging  and  locking  the  door  behind  her,  leav 
ing  them  gazing  into  each  other's  white  faces, 
•tunned  and  aghast. 

"We  must  leave  it  to  time,"  the  major  had  said, 
after  their  long,  dreary  conference.  "It  is  prob 
ably  the  end  of  poor  Norman,  anyhow,  and  the 
rest  will  come  later." 

The  story  of  the  luckless  raid  on  Belleview  was 
not  told  in  full  in  the  press  of  the  day.  Like 
every  fiasco,  big  or  little,  the  first  year  of  the 
war,  "The  affair  was  only  a  reconnoissance." 
But  Mrs.  Lane  got  all  the  particulars  through  the 
Rays  at  Lexington,  who,  oddly  enough,  seemed 
to  hear  not  infrequently  from  Major  Henry  Clay 
Holt  of  the  Confederate  staff  corps.  Through 
them  she  heard  how  successfully  the  work  of 
proselyting  had  been  going  on,  how  vehemently 
the  old  doctor  had  been  working,  and  how  hos 
pitably  he  had  entertained  the  officers  detailed 
for  the  duty  by  Sidney  Johnston  and  Buckner,  how 


126  NORMAN  HOLT 

the  latter  had  sent  two  squadrons  of  cavalry  to 
cover  Belleview  pending  these  operations,  another 
to  serve  as  escort  for  the  officers  in  the  lower 
counties,  and  still  certain  other  riders,  not  in  Con 
federate  gray,  to  keep  vigilant  watch  along  the 
front.  And  so,  when  Wing's  squadron  made  its 
essay,  based  on  secret  and  reliable  information  of 
the  presence  of  the  party  at  Belleview,  the  guard 
was  on  the  lookout  for  him — and  never  did  Belle- 
view  tender  a  wanner  reception.  What  nearly 
broke  the  old  doctor's  heart,  however — what 
stunned  him,  yet  enraged  him  was  to  find  that 
his  own  boy,  his  own  little  Benjamin,  had  led 
the  column  that  came  to  capture  him.  "That," 
said  Kate  Ray,  "is  something  none  of  us  who 
know  Norman  can  in  the  least  understand.  It 
sounds  incredible.  Major  Holt  seems  to  feel  it  as 
deeply  as  does  his  father." 

But  what  Kate  Ray  did  not  know  and  Mrs. 
Lane  did  not  learn  until  later,  in  a  letter  from 
Malloy,  was  that  Norman  Holt,  so  far  from 
serving  as  a  guide  for  the  purpose  indicated,  had 
played  a  double  game,  had  treacherously  brought 
about  the  disaster  to  the  Union  arms,  and  was 
now  a  prisoner  awaiting  trial  by  court-martial,  a 
prisoner  whose  sentence  might  deservedly  be  death. 

And  this  was  news  over  which  Lane  himself 
began  to  weaken.  This  was  carrying  the  matter 
too  far.  He  had  meant  to  remove  Norman  as  a 
possible  suitor,  not  to  slay  him  as  a  felon.  He 
read  with  amazement  the  story  sent  by  his 
wife,  and  in  sore  perturbation  tried  to  study  it 
out  and  consider  the  pros  and  cons.  He  could 


A  RIVAL'S  BLOW  137 

conceive  of  Norman  doing  one  of  two  things  in 
this  matter,  but  could  not  believe  him  guilty  of 
playing  a  double  part.  He  wrote  for  confirma 
tion  of  Malloy's  possibly  biased  statement,  and  got 
it.  The  report  was  true ;  the  charge  might  not  be. 
Then  came  the  tidings  of  his  own  boy's  prostra 
tion,  and  then  Norman  was  for  the  time  forgotten. 
Meanwhile  what  could  Mrs.  Lane  do  but  ask 
that  Norman  should  be  transferred  to  the  ward 
where  Theodore  was  lying,  a  much  smaller  one, 
where  he  might  receive  at  her  hands  some  of  the 
care  and  dainties  lavished  on  her  son?  A  surgeon 
had  come  and  conversed  with  the  accused  pa 
tient,  and  noted  symptoms  of  excitement  that 
led  to  examination.  The  cause  not  being  ap 
parent  in  Norman's  personal  condition,  the  doc 
tor  sought  further  and  found  it — in  the  fair  girl 
seated  by  her  brother's  bedside  across  the  hall. 
Then  an  officer  from  the  staff  of  the  commanding 
general  dropped  in — an  officer  who  had  been  on 
duty  at  West  Point  when  Norman  was  cadet 
sergeant  of  Company  "D."  The  recognition  was 
instant  on  part  of  the  young  soldier,  but  he  gave 
no  sign.  The  visitor  was  shocked  and  pained  to 
see  how  the  lad  must  have  suffered.  Norman's 
connection  with  the  raid  to  Belleview  was  of 
course  known  to  him — the  name  was  a  household 
word  in  the  army,  and  the  story  by  this  time 
had  gone  from  mouth  to  mouth — Kentuckians 
being  sadly  and  fearfully  divided  about  it.  And 
now  Captain  Enyart  had  been  sent  to  see  if 
Norman  had  nothing  to  say  for  himself.  The 
report  of  his  conduct  when  he  could  hare  es- 


12S  NORMAN  HOLT 

caped  liad  found  its  way  to  Headquarters  and 
staggered  those  who  believed  in  his  guilt. 

And  so  there  came  a  day  not  soon  to  be  for 
gotten,  and  a  scene  long  remembered  in  the  gen 
eral  hospital,  a  scene  that,  when  described  to 
Mr.  Burnett  Malloy,  less  than  a  week  later,  sent 
"him  nearly  wild  with  apprehension  and  jealous 
misery.  And  well  it  might.  Matters  were  lively 
at  the  front,  and  he  couldn't  get  away.  The 
Army  of  the  Ohio  "was  concentrating  at  Nash 
ville.  It  was  his  own  captain  who  was  the  nar 
rator,  and  little  doubt  was  there  that  "the  ould 
man"  enjoyed  the  privilege  and  made  the  most 
of  it.  Gaflhey  had  learned  to  love  and  lean 
on  Norman.  He  felt  that  the  lad  had  been 
undermined  by  this  smooth,  well-groomed, 
well-provided  fellow,  whom  he  both  hated 
and  feared — hated  for  his  superior  airs  and  edu 
cation,  but  feared  for  his  undoubted  influence 
and  power.  Oppose  him  openly  or  incur  his 
enmity  he  dare  not.  Captain  Gafihey  had  not 
lived  long  in  Irish-American  political  life  without 
learning  from  bitter  experience  the  depth  of  its 
intrigue.  But  in  common  with  almost  every 
officer  of  the  regiment,  he  knew  by  this  time 
Malloy 's  aspirations  regarding  Daisy  Lane; 
though  he  knew  that  Norman  Holt  had  been  a 
dangerous  rival,  and  took  all  an  Irishman's  de 
light  in  twitting  an  anxious  swain. 

A  long  letter  had  come  to  him  from  Louis 
ville,  semi-official  in  character,  written  by  Cap 
tain  Enyart  himself,  an  officer  of  the  department 
commander's  staff,  written  to  him  as  captain  of 


A  RIVAL'S  BLOW  138 

Norman  Holt's  company,  that  he  might  have 
the  latest  and  fullest  and  most  authentic  account 
of  that  young  and  sorely  tried  soldier's  fortunes. 
It  was  in  answer  to  one  the  faithful  old  Celt  had 
sent,  because  he  could  no  longer  bear  the  slurs 
and  innuendoes  so  frequently  uttered  at  Norman's 
expense  by  Malloy,  and  Enyart  had  written  from 
the  fullness  of  his  heart  and  subject.  The  first 
pages  the  captain  kept  to  himself.  The  last, 
with  frequent  injections  of  Hibernian  comment, 
ment,  he  read  aloud  to  his  senior  lieutenant: 

HEADQUARTERS  ARMY  OF  THE  OHIO, 

Office  of  the  Assistant  Inspector  General, 
January  30,  1862. 

My  dear  Captain  Gaffney: — I  have  received  your  anxious 
letter  and  am  glad  to  be  able  to  answer  at  once.  The  few 
lines  of  inquiry  sent  you  on  the  20th,  when  we  were  still  full 
of  General  Thomas's  brilliant  victory  in  front  of  Mill  Springs, 
should  have  gone  more  into  detail,  but  this  cannot  be  said  of 
your  capital  answer.  You  have  covered  the  whole  subject, 
and  your  testimony  to  the  faithful  and  excellent  service  ren 
dered  by  young  Holt  will  be  of  the  utmost  value  should  the 
case  ever  be  brought  to  trial,  which  now  seems  doubtful. 

To  begin  with,  it  must  be  remembered  that  all  the  outcry 
against  him  was  made  by  a  lot  of  badly  beaten  troopers, 
who  felt  they  had  to  account  in  some  way  for  the  failure  of 
the  expedition.  Then  he  himself  broke  down,  had  no  one  to 
speak  for  him,  was  too  ill  to  speak  at  all.  Then  followed  the 
weeks  in  hospital,  and  finally,  as  the  charges  were  formulated 
and  laid  before  our  level-headed  General — (You  may  not  ap 
preciate  him  now,  my  friend,  but  with  his  apparent  coldness 
and  severity  the  results  will  show  he  was  the  man  of  all 
others  to  make  soldiers  of  this  army) — he  sent  for  Lieutenant 
Fanning  and  others,  and  asked  how  they  knew  Holt  had 
communicated  with  the  enemy's  videttes,  how  they  knew  he 
had  purposely  delayed  the  march,  and  whether  they  knew 


130  NORMAN  HOLT 

any  better  road  to  Belleview  than  the  one  he  took,  except 
the  pike  through  Asholt,  which,  of  course,  would  have  run 
them  into  a  hornet's  nest.  He  found  they  didn't  know  any 
thing,  and  that  the  only  officers  and  men  likely  to  know 
anything  were  Captain  Wing,  First  Sergeant  Hunter,  and 
Trooper  Fuller,  all  wounded  or  prisoners  in  the  hands  of  the 
enemy.  That  spoiled  the  case  for  the  prosecution  for  a  while, 
anyhow.  Then  who  should  turn  up  but  Fuller,  found  among 
the  wounded  at  Bowling  Green  and  sent  back  to  the  general 
hospital  at  Louisville.  Meanwhile  Holt  had  opportunity  to 
escape  from  hospital,  and  not  only  wouldn't  take  advantage 
of  it,  as  he  probably  would  if  conscious  of  guilt,  but  he  kept 
others  in  check;  and  this,  too,  came  to  the  General's  ears,  and 
he  ordered  me  to  go  into  the  case.  I  had  known  the  young 
man  when  he  was  a  cadet  at  the  Point,  and  he  was  square 
as  a  man  could  be — a  Kentucky  gentleman,  in  fact— and  I 
could  not  but  sympathize  with  him  in  his  extremely  painful 
and  trying  situation,  forced  upon  him  by  the  war.  He  was 
still  so  deeply  grieved  that  he  could  not  bear  to  speak  of  the 
matter  at  first,  but  denying  the  accusations  in  toto,  he  said 
that  Captain  Wing  would  surely  exonerate  him,  and  asked 
me  to  see  the  wounded  men  in  the  other  ward.  And  there, 
as  luck  would  have  it,  lay  Fuller,  he  who  rode  forward  with 
him  to  the  edge  of  the  town,  and  was  close  by  him  until  after 
they  entered  Belleview's  gates.  Fuller  said  Holt  never  had  a 
chance  to  speak  to  the  enemy,  that  Wing  kept  him  close  to 
his  side,  and  that  Captain  Wing  himself  had  ordered  the 
detour  around  Asholt  after  finding  the  village  occupied  by  the 
enemy.  The  other  men  knew  nothing. 

So  there's  the  case  in  a  nutshell.  So  far  from  being  blamed 
by  Mr.  Fanning  for  leading  them  into  the  scrape,  he  should 
be  praised  for  getting  them  out  of  it.  Had  it  not  been  for 
his  presence  and  knowledge  of  the  road  the  whole  squadron 
would  probably  have  been  gobbled. 

You  should  have  seen  the  picture  yesterday  afternoon  when 
I  went  by  the  General's  order  to  remove  the  guard  and  tell 
him  the  case  was  quashed,  unless  future  developments  should 
cause  it  to  be  reopened.  There  in  a  sunshiny  little  room  lay 
one  of  your  boys,  young  Lane,  building  up  from  his  fever. 


A  RIVAL'S  BLOW  131 

There  by  the  bedside  sat  his  mother — you  know  the  family, 
of  course.  There  in  an  easy-chair,  reading  aloud,  sat  as  pretty 
a  girl  as  man  could  hope  to  see,  and  there,  reclining  in  an 
other  easy-chair,  was  our  convalescent,  so  engrossed  in  the 
fair  reader  that  he  never  saw  or  heard  me  until  she  arose  to 
bid  me  welcome.  I  made  short  work  of  my  errand.  "The 
General  orders  your  release,  Holt,"  said  I,  "and  you  are  to 
have  furlough  to-morrow.  Furlough  till  you're  both  ready 
to  take  the  field."  And  while  the  mother  fell  to  kissing  her 
boy,  will  you  believe  it  ("Listen  to  this  now,  Malloy,"  inter 
polated  Gaffney)  doesn't  Miss  Daisy  almost  shake  my  hand 
off,  and  then,  sobbing,  "Oh,  I  knew  it!  I  knew  it!"  turned 
to  that  lucky,  lanky,  lackadaisical  ("Lack  a  Daisy,  is  it? 
That'll  be  you  Malloy,  I'm  thinking"),  long-legged  son  of 
Kentucky,  and  as  much  as  said,  Why  don't  you?  Oh,  what 
fools  these  mortals  be!  I'd  have  had  her  in  my  arms  that 
instant,  but  he  hung  back,  flushing,  troubled,  nervously  pluck 
ing  at  the  sleeve  of  his  blouse,  and  finally  he  blurts  out: 
"But  I  demand  a  court-martial !  I  must  be  tried  and  honor 
ably  acquitted!"  As  if  Don  Carlos  Buell's  verdict  wasn't 
good  enough  for  any  man!  So  there  it  stands,  and  there  he 
stood  when  he  should  have  welcomed  release — and  the  lady, 
both — with  open  arms. 

Will  write  again  next  week.    Yours,  with  regards, 

G.  B.  ENYART, 
Captain  — th  U.  S.  Infantry,  A.I.G. 

P.S. — Sorry  you  missed  Mill  Spring.    Better  luck  next  time. 

Slowly  the  veteran  refolded  the  letter,  his 
twinkling  eyes  never  quitting  their  mischievous 
scrutiny  of  his  victim's  averted  face.  Malloy, 
seated  in  a  camp-chair,  his  booted  feet  to  the  fire, 
his  delicate  white  hand  nervously  twisting  his 
dark  mustache,  his  glowing  eyes  snapping  and 
shifting,  waited  until  the  last  word  was  read. 
Then  deliberately  he  rose,  stretched  his  arms  to 
their  full  extent,  yawned  with  ostentatious  show 
of  indifference,  glanced  upward  at  the  sullen  skies 


182  NORMAN  HOLT 

and  wearily  about  at  the  grimy  tents,  and  finally 
queried : 

"Er — who  did  you  say  was  the  author  of  this 
ten-page  epistle — Captain  Enyart?  Yes;  facile 
pen,  fervid  imagination!  Step  over  to  my  tent, 
Captain,  and  we'll,  or  rather  you'll,  find  the  case 
refilled.  Make  yourself  at  home.  I'm  on  guard, 
you  know."  And,  hitching  up  his  handsome 
sword,  the  lieutenant  sauntered  off  toward  the 
sentry  line. 

"Dash  dash  him!"  swore  Gaffney,  deep  in  his 
throat.  "I'll  take  the  starch  out  av  him  yet, 
if  only  wanst  we  can  get  undher  fire.  An'  when 
Holt  comes  back  we'll  see  who's  the  betther  man, 
or  I'm  not  captain  of  the  Emmet  Guard." 

Soon  enough,  too  soon,  perhaps,  for  his  health, 
Holt  rejoined  the  old  company,  to  find  that  at 
a  time  when  every  officer  was  presumably  need 
ed  with  his  command,  and  every  application  for 
leave  of  absence  was  forwarded  disapproved, 
Lieutenant  Malloy,  — th  Ohio,  had  been  granted 
thirty  days,  under  orders  the  stern  old  soldier 
and  disciplinarian  at  the  head  of  the  Army  of  the 
Ohio  could  not  disregard.  There  was  no  chance 
to  tell  which  was  the  "better  man,"  c^en  on  the 
second  day  of  Shiloh,  when  old  Gatfney  went 
down  with  a  bullet  through  the  leg ;  for  the  first 
lieutenant  failed  to  reach  the  field  until  days  after 
the  fight  was  done,  and  then  his  first  act  was  to 
tear  up  the  list  of  recommendations  for  sergeants' 
warrants  to  fill  the  few  vacancies  existing.  The 
new  list  made  no  mention  whatsoever  of  Private 
Bolt 


CHAPTER  XL 

BROTHER  AGAINST  BROTHER 

What  had  become  of  Captain  Enyart's  benevolent 
plan  of  sending  Holt  home  with  Lane?  Early 
in  February,  while  the  Army  of  the  Tennessee  was 
closing  in  around  Donelson,  and  their  comrades 
of  the  Ohio  were  concentrating  at  Nashville,  the 
doctors  pronounced  that  mother-coddled  young 
scapegrace  quite  able  to  travel,  and  some  were 
so  flinty-hearted  as  to  say  he  might  as  well  travel 
to  the  front.  Norman,  on  the  contrary,  was 
apparently  fretting  himself  into  another  fever. 
Far  from  taking  comfort  in  the  dainties  tendered 
him  by  Mrs.  Lane  (who  from  the  very  day  of  the 
dramatic  announcement  of  his  release  from  charge 
of  the  guard  had  mounted  another  in  the  shape 
of  herself,  to  see  that  never  again  had  he  and 
Daisy  a  chance  for  a  word),  the  lad  was  nervous 
ly  eager  to  see  the  General  commanding,  to  secure 
a  fair,  full  trial  by  general  court-martial,  and  the 
triumphant  vindication  he  considered  absolutely 
necessary  to  his  soldier  honor.  Pale,  weak,  and 
languid,  he  had  managed  twice  to  go  to  head 
quarters,  but  Captain  Enyart  had  been  sent  to 
the  front  on  some  important  mission.  There  was 
no  one  among  the  busy  officers  coming  and  going 
whose  face  was  familiar  to  the  tall  young  soldier 
in  his  loose,  ill-fitting  uniform.  Only  once  he  had 


184  NORMAN  HOLT 

speech  with  an  over-worked  aide-de-camp,  who 
took  down  his  name,  company,  and  regiment, 
told  him  it  was  impossible  to  see  the  General,  and 
that,  even  if  he  did,  it  would  do  no  good.  A 
soldier  could  not  demand  a  trial.  A  trial  could 
not  be  held  without  witnesses.  The  witnesses 
were  still  prisoners  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy, 
the  Lord  only  knew  where,  and  the  best  Norman 
could  do  was  to  take  the  furlough  granted  him, 
get  a  rest,  a  little  strength,  and  then  rejoin  his 
regiment.  The  aide  was  not  unkind.  He  was 
simply  bluff,  straightforward,  and  brief.  He  had 
to  be.  Then  Holt  asked  when  he  could  hope  to 
see  Captain  Enyart.  "Back  day  after  to-morrow. 
Show  in  the  next  man,  orderly.  Now,  what  do 
you  want?"  And  Norman  wearily  went  his  way. 
There  was  time  for  little  sentiment  in  those  days. 
He  walked  slowly  back  to  the  big  hospital  and 
painfully  climbed  the  stairs.  He  had  seen  but 
little  of  that  beloved  face  of  late.  "Daisy  is  visit 
ing  friends,"  explained  Mrs.  Lane.  "The  air  of 
the  hospital  is  bad  for  her,  and  now  that  Theo 
and  you  are  doing  so  well  it  is  best  she  should 
take  care  of  herself."  If  he  only  knew  who  and 
where  those  friends  were  it  would  be  easy  to  seek 
their  home.  It  would  be  joy  to  see  her  face  again. 
He  had  even  sought  to  ascertain,  but  saw  plainly 
that  Mrs.  Lane  fathomed  his  motive,  and  meant 
not  to  tell.  His  heart  was  heavy  as  his  feet  as  he 
climbed  the  stairs  to  the  second  floor,  and,  enter 
ing  the  room  her  presence  had  made  sweet  and 
sacred,  despite  the  sorrow  in  his  heart,  looked 
blankly  about  him.  There  was  his  cot,  there 


BROTHER  AGAINST  BROTHER  186 

sto<  d  his  few  belongings,  but  everything  of  Theo's 
was  gone! 

"The  lady  left  good-by  for  you  and  was  so  sorry 
you  were  away,"  said  the  steward.  "She  will 
write  after  they  get  home,  and — she  left  all  these 
for  you." 

"These"  were  two  or  three  bottles  of  wine,  and 
some  jellies  and  tonics  and  what-nots,  from  which, 
in  speechless,  helpless  sorrow,  Norman  turned 
away.  Unerringly  he  saw  through  it  all.  Mrs. 
Lane  never  meant  or  wished  that  he  should  go 
home  with  her.  They  could  take  care  of  Theo 
without  his  aid.  That  night  he  asked  the  chief 
surgeon  how  soon  he  could  go  to  the  front,  and 
the  surgeon  answered  by  ordering  him  back  to 
bed. 

And  now  here  he  was  once  more  with  his  old 
company,  but  everything  seemed  changed.  Gaffney 
wounded  and  gone;  Sloan,  his  friend,  and  first 
sergeant,  sent  back  invalided  to  Savannah;  a 
man  the  Emmets  hardly  knew  at  all  made  first 
sergeant  in  his  place,  and  the  man  Norman  Holt 
knew  to  be  his  unscrupulous  enemy  commanding 
the  company.  "Be  on  your  guard,  me  boy," 
whispered  GafFney  to  him,  as,  on  his  way  to  the 
front,  the  young  soldier  had  bent  over  his 
wounded  captain's  cot.  "That  young  man'll 
thrick  you  if  he  can.  I'll  be  back  wid  the  byes 
in  a  month.  Till  then — mind  yer  eye." 

But  a  month  is  a  long  time  in  the  face  of  the 
enemy.  No  man  can  say  what  a  day  will  bring 
forth.  The  regiment  slowly  marched  on  toward 
Corinth,  with  the  combined  armies  reorganized 


1*6  NORMAN  HOLY 

under  Halleck,  and  presently  found  itself  doing 
picket  duty  on  an  exposed  flank,  its  dog  tents 
pitched  in  irregular  fashion  along  a  bare  hillside ; 
thick  woods  surrounding  them ;  tortuous  country 
roads  twisting,  snakelike,  through  the  timber;  a 
little  covering  force  of  cavalry  off  southeastward 
toward  luka;  the  comrade  regiments  of  the  bri 
gade  bunched  in  the  woods  to  their  right,  and 
here,  in  monotony  unspeakable,  the  men  from  the 
Queen  City  were  called  upon  to  kill  time — their 
only  recreation  cards,  their  only  diversion  occa 
sional  scout,  patrol,  or  long-range  skirmish  with 
parties  of  gray- jacketed  cavalry  that  kept  up  a 
perpetual  stir  along  the  front;  the  only  knowledge 
of  what  might  be  going  on  at  home  the  occa 
sional  coming  of  a  mail  with  letters  and  papers ; 
their  only  participation  in  the  move  on  Corinth 
the  hours  of  listening  to  the  dull,  distant  booming 
of  the  guns.  Drills,  save  by  squad  or  company 
in  the  manual,  in  which  the  Army  of  the  Ohio  was 
long  since  letter  perfect,  were  impossible.  Life 
under  such  circumstances  became  stagnation.  It 
was  tedium  to  those  who  had  letters  and  papers 
from  home;  it  was  torment  to  him  who  for  two 
mortal  weeks  had — nothing. 

A  spell  seemed  thrown  over  Norman  Holt's  sad 
life  in  the  early  days  that  followed  Shiloh.  The 
battle  itself  was  wellnigh  done  by  the  time  they 
reached  the  Tennessee  and  were  thrown  in  on  the 
left  flank  just  at  the  last  despairing  charge  of  the 
men  in  gray.  It  was  all  over  in  a  few  volleys. 
The  coming  of  Buell's  splendid  divisions,  drilled, 
disciplined,  and  "seasoned,"  had  crushed  the  hopes 


BROTHER  AGAINST  BROTHER  187 

of  the  Confederate  leaders,  already  shattered  by 
the  rally  of  the  blue  brigades  late  the  previous 
day,  and  by  the  death  of  their  heroic  commander, 
Sidney  Johnston.  What  there  was  of  the  fight 
for  the  Ohio  lads  they  took  with  placid  ease,  the 
Emmets  alone  of  the  whole  regiment  showing  a 
disposition  to  break  the  line  and  pitch  in  for  a 
"Donnybrook"  after  their  gallant  captain  fell. 
The  stern  schooling  they  had  had  in  Kentucky 
and  on  the  march  through  Tennessee  had  brought 
them  to  the  front  "fit  as  fiddles."  But  now  came 
the  reaction.  With  nothing  to  do  but  gamble  and 
guard  duty  the  best  of  men  go  stale,  and  the 
Emmets  were  not  the  best.  For  their  new  com 
manding  officer  they  had  no  respect.  He  had 
lost  the  elements  of  his  popularity.  The  first 
sergeant  whom  he  had  appointed  was  obnoxious 
to  the  company  for  that  if  no  other  reason,  and 
"the  byes"  proceeded  to  make  life  a  burden  to 
him.  In  furtherance  of  his  determination  to  be 
useful,  to  get  ahead,  to  accomplish  something, 
Norman  had  offered  his  aid  in  making  out  the 
company  papers,  but  with  odd  constraint  of 
manner  the  new  first  sergeant  replied  that  he  had 
all  the  help  he  needed.  Yet  one  day  the  adjutant 
himself  came  over  to  Mr.  Malloy's  tent  and  swore 
roundly  because  the  morning  report  was  again 
all  wrong.  It  was  Holt  who  straightened  it  out 
at  the  sergeant's  request.  "I — I'd  be  glad  if  you 
would  give  me  a  lift,"  the  latter  had  said,  "only 
I  don't  want  the  lieutenant  to  know."  In  a 
dozen  words  Norman  was  made  to  feel  that  with 
jealous  vigilance  Malloy  was  keeping  him  in 


138  NORMAN  HOLT 

the  background,  standing  between  him  and 
every  possibility  of  preferment.  Yet  on  all  occa 
sions  Holt  showed  every  outward  semblance  of 
soldierly  respect,  scrupulously  saluting  or  standing 
at  attention  in  the  presence  of  the  lieutenant,  a  thing 
few  others  of  the  men  now  ever  thought  of  doing. 
The  Emmets  got  to  straggling  all  over  the  coun 
try  in  search  of  illicit  stills  or  sutler  shops.  They 
were  perpetually  being  arrested  by  patrols.  The 
division  and  brigade  commanders  rasped  the 
colonel  and  the  colonel  rasped  Malloy.  "I  can't 
help  it,"  said  the  last-named  officer.  "The  men 
are  taking  it  out  of  me  for  making  Trott  first 
sergeant  instead  of  one  of  their  own  Micks.  Be 
sides — I'm  handicapped  as  no  other  company  is." 

"How  so?"  demanded  the  colonel. 

"You  know  well  enough,  sir,"  was  the  answer. 
"The  man  they  elected  first  lieutenant  is  one  of 
their  own  set.  I  dare  say  he's  at  the  bottom 
of  half  their  devilment,  if  indeed  he  isn't  worse. 
He's  making  maps  and  writing  most  of  the 
time.  D'you  suppose  that's  for  his  own  informa 
tion?" 

The  colonel  looked  up,  startled.  He  studied  the 
young  officer's  face  awhile,  as  though  still  half  in 
doubt.  "My  knuckles  ache  yet,"  said  he,  "from 
the  rap  they  got  on  Holt's  account  as  to  that 
Belle  view  business.  You  must  be  sure  of  your 
ground  before  accusing  him  again." 

"That's  why  I  don't  interfere  with  him.  If  he 
thought  he  was  closely  watched  it  would  put  him 
on  his  guard.  But  now  that  Buell  befriends  him, 
it  is  making  him  independent,  not  to  say  insubor- 


BROTHER  AGAINST  BROTHER  189 

dinate.    Presently  he'll  grow  less  cautious.    Give 
him  rope  enough,  sir,  and  he'll  hang  himself." 

And  the  story  that  Holt  was  making  maps  and 
writing  had  foundation.  His  sore  heart  turned  in 
repulsion  from  the  low  associations  of  the  camp, 
with  its  incessant  gaming  and  frequent  drink. 
He  welcomed  every  chance  to  go  on  scout  or 
patrol.  He  welcomed  guard  and  picket  duty, 
held  himself  constantly  ready  for  service,  and  in 
the  course  often  days  had  learned  more  about 
the  roads,  streams,  and  bridges  and  abandoned 
farms  within  five  miles  of  the  camp  than  any 
officer  in  his  regiment.  He  made  rough  field  notes, 
platted  maps,  kept  a  diary,  and  would  have 
written  letter  after  letter  had  he  had  any  one  to 
write  to,  or,  saving  that,  any  safe  place  in  which 
to  store  his  pages.  There  is  no  security  in  the 
soldier  knapsack,  and  that  was  all  allowed  him. 
He  had  written  twice  to  Theodore,  who  had  never 
rejoined  the  company,  but  was  reported  as  on 
detached  service  in  the  office  of  the  assistant 
adjutant-general,  headquarters  department  of  the 
Ohio.  Influence  had  got  the  lad  a  "soft  billet" 
while  his  comrades  were  afield.  No  answer  came. 
He  had  written  to  Kate  Ray,  a  long  letter,  telling 
her  his  own  story  of  the  night  scout  to  Belleview, 
and  begging  her  for  news  of  those  he  loved— North 
as  well  as  South — but  as  yet  no  answer  came. 
Not  once  had  Mrs.  Lane  written,  despite  her 
promise.  For  over  three  months  he  had  been 
without  tidings  of  his  father  and  brother,  when 
one  soft,  moist,  yet  sunshiny  May  morning  there 
came  news  in  an  unlooked-for  way. 


l«t>  NORMAN  HOLT 

It  was  barely  nine  o'clock.  The  dull,  distant 
boom  of  the  guns  told  that  Halleck  was  ham 
mering  away  about  Corinth.  The  air  was  drowsy 
and  still,  and  camp  wore  its  usual  frowsy,  listless 
look.  True  to  old  teachings  and  natural  instincts, 
Holt  insisted  on  keeping  his  part,  at  least,  of  the 
little  tent  in  order  and  decency.  His  mates  were 
Corporal  Connelly,  a  rollicking  Irishman,  and  a 
quiet,  homesick  lad  by  the  name  of  Brennan,  both 
his  stanch  and  devoted  friends;  both,  mainly 
through  his  influence,  fighting  shy  of  the  rough 
element  of  which  the  company  "was  so  largely 
composed ;  both  on  the  good  books  of  Captain 
Gafiney  and  slated  by  him  for  advancement;  both, 
therefore,  no  favorites  of  Malloy's.  The  three 
were  busy  cleaning  their  Springfields,  for  a  heavy 
rain  had  wet  them  when  on  patrol  the  night 
before,  when  they  were  suddenly  aware  of  some 
commotion  in  camp.  Three  officers,  mounted, 
followed  by  orderlies  and  a  little  escort,  came 
trotting  briskly  through  the  heavy  red  soil  of  the 
country  road  that  skirted  the  field.  The  colonel's 
orderly  was  double-quicking  to  keep  up  with  the 
foremost.  They  wanted  Lieutenant  Malloy,  who 
wasn't  at  his  tent.  '  'Never  mind, ' '  said  the  leader, 
impetuously,  " where  is  the  first  sergeant?"  And 
in  answer  to  the  question,  given  in  a  high-pitched 
tenor  voice,  Company  "C"  to  a  man  dropped 
whatever  it  was  at,  cards  principally,  and  poked 
its  frowsy  heads  out  into  the  sunshine. 

There  sat  in  saddle — his  horse,  impatient  as  the 
rider,  switching  nervously  about — a  slender,  deep- 
chested,  little  man,  with  snapping  black  eyes, 


BROTHER  AGAINST  BROTHER  141 

close-cropped  black  hair  and  beard,  a  prominent 
nose,  and  a  queer  combination  of  costume.  He 
wore  a  slant-peaked  forage  cap,  pulled  down  over 
his  forehead,  a  snug-fitting,  single-breasted  uni 
form  frock,  every  button  in  its  hole,  the  usual 
red  sash,  black  belt  and  sabre,  with  dark  blue 
riding  trousers  tucked  into  high  boots,  but  on  his 
shoulders  gleamed  brand-new  silver  spread  eagles 
on  the  yellow  straps  of  a  colonel  of  cavalry. 
Evidently  he  had  just  stepped  from  the  grade  of 
captain  to  that  of  colonel,  and  there  had  not  yet 
been  time  to  get  the  double-breasted  coat.  Every 
man  in  the  Emmets  spotted  him  for  a  "regular' ' 
at  the  instant.  Some  even  went  further  and 
declared  him  "thrue  blue,"  which  meant  green  as 
the  sod  they  swore  by. 

"Sergeant,"  rang  out  the  high  tenor,  as  that 
non-commissioned  officer  came  hurrying  from  his 
tent,  thrusting  both  arms  at  once  into  the  roomy 
blue  blouse,  "I  want  a  guide.  The  colonel  says 
you  have  two  or  three  men  who  know  the  coun 
try  south  and  east.  Who  knows  it  best?" 

Trott  glanced  about  him.  The  lieutenant  was 
not  in  sight  and  hearing.  The  answer  was  prompt 
and  with  a  salute. 

"Private  Holt,  su." 

And  at  the  sound  of  his  own  name  Holt 
dropped  the  Springfield  and  stepped  forward 
through  the  muddy  company  street. 

"You  the  man?"  snapped  the  colonel.  "Canyon 
ride?" 

Norman  felt  almost  like  smiling.  "Yes,  sir," 
said  he,  hand  at  cap  aad  heels  together. 


142  NORMAN  HOLT 

"Dismount  one  of  your  men,  captain.  Come  just 
as  you  are,  Holt.  We  won't  be  gone  an  hour. 
Tell  your  captain  it's  all  right,  sergeant.  It's  the 
general's  order.  I'm — my  name's  Sheridan,"  and 
evidently  the  speaker  had  not  yet  become  accus 
tomed  to  the  new  rank.  In  two  minutes  the  little 
cavalcade,  a  squadron  in  all,  had  disappeared  in 
the  woods  to  the  southeast,  and  for  twenty  min 
utes  nothing  more  was  heard  of  them.  The  Em 
mets  drifted  back  to  poker  and  camp  politics — 
then  presently  came  scrambling  again  into  the 
company  street. 

Somewhere  out  to  the  southeast,  not  more  than 
a  mile  away  by  the  sound,  there  burst  upon  the 
moist,  heavy,  sodden  air  the  sputter  and  crackle 
of  musketry.  Colonel  Sheridan  had  stirred  up  a 
hornet's  nest. 

And  then  it  was  a  sight  to  see  the  stir  and 
excitement  in  what  had  been  so  short  a  time 
before  a  dawdling,  listless  camp.  Cards  and 
counters  -were  thrown  to  the  winds.  Never  -wait 
ing  for  orders,  but  with  the  instinct  for  battle 
that  seems  born  in  the  American  soldier,  the  men 
sprang  to  their  tents,  hastily  donned  and  but 
toned  the  coarse  blue  blouses,  whipped  from  peg 
and  ridge-pole  the  broad  leathern  belts,  with  the 
cumbrous  old  forty-rounder  cartridge  box,  ducked 
into  the  black  loop  till  it  settled  on  the  left 
shoulder  and  clamped  it  to  the  waist  line  with 
one  snap  of  the  belt  plate.  A  shift  with  the  right 
hand  swung  the  big  box  to  the  right  buttock, 
another  slid  the  little,  fleece-lined  cap  pouch  snug 
to  the  plate,  another  set  the  bayonet  in  its  leath- 


"TELL  YOUR  CAPTAIN  IT'S  ALL  RIGHT,  SERGEANT. 

IT'S  THE  COLONEL'S  ORDER." 


Page  143 


.     ,  « »  t       •      .          ', 

:•-•••:-.      UJ      -     ' 


BROTHER  AGAINST  BROTHER  143 

ern  sheath  well  back  of  the  left  hip,  and  then, 
grabbing  the  long,  gleaming  Springfields,  sixty 
men  to  the  company  still,  the  Ohio  boys  gathered 
in  the  muddy,  sloping  street  of  the  camp,  await 
ing  orders  and  listening  eagerly  to  the  sounds 
from  the  front.  Six  months  back  and  every  drum 
in  camp  would  have  been  banging  the  long  roll, 
but  all  that  nonsense  had  long  been  blasted  out  of 
the  army  of  the  Ohio.  "Fall  in!"  growled  the 
first  sergeant  of  the  right  center  company,  as  he 
saw  the  adjutant  come  out  of  the  colonel's  tent 
on  a  run.  "Fall  in!"  flew  the  order  to  the  wings, 
and  even  before  the  captains  could  reach  their 
stations,  the  men  were  at  "front"  and  "support.'* 
Young  ScarclifFe,  second  lieutenant  of  Company 
"C,"  with  his  frayed  crimson  sash  trailing,  un- 
looped,  in  the  mud,  came  leaping  the  puddles  down 
to  the  line,  looking  anxiously  about  for  his  senior, 
but  no  Malloy  was  to  be  seen.  '  'Went  over  to  brigade 
headquarters,"  sang  out  the  major,  as  he  stood 
hauling  on  his  gauntlets  and  swearing  at  his 
black  hostler's  clumsy  efforts  to  set  the  heavy 
saddle  on  a  snorting,  plunging,  excited  beast. 
Away  up  the  slope,  opposite  the  right  wing,  the 
drums  and  fifes  began  rattling  a  call,  and  before 
it  was  half  finished  the  powerful  voice  of  big  Bob 
McGraw,  captain  of  the  color  company,  rang  out 
the  order :  *  'Company,  left  face !  Forward,  double 
quick.  March!"  It  was  adjutant's  call,  and  in 
another  instant  ten  stout  companies,  by  the  flank 
in  sets  of  four,  were  dancing  out  to  the  regimental 
line.  "By  the  left  flank,  halt !  By  the  right  flank, 
halt !  Guides  out  there,  lively ! '  '—the  orders  leaped 


144  NORMAN  HOLT 

from  wing  to  wing,  drowning  for  the  time  the 
sounds  of  the  battle  at  the  front. 

A  keen  regiment  on  drill  was  the  — th  Ohio, 
masters  of  the  new  light  infantry  tactics,  envied 
and  maligned  and  snarled  at  by  their  brigade  and 
division  mates  because  of  it,  but  proud  as  seven 
hundred  Lucifers  of  their  snap,  style,  and  celerity. 
The  colonel  came  galloping  out  full  tilt  to  the 
front  of  the  line.  The  color  guard,  with  their 
monarch  of  a  sergeant  standard-bearer  in  their 
midst,  came  down  the  slope  through  camp  on  the 
run  and  squeezed  into  line,  breathless,  between 
the  solid  wings.  "Guides  posts!"  squealed  from 
the  right  the  shrill  voice  of  the  adjutant,  while 
the  commander,  impatient  of  further  ceremony, 
whipped  out  his  long  blade  in  sweeping  circle 
that  nearly  sliced  off  the  left  ear  of  his  steed,  and 
bent  his  own  to  the  aide,  who  from  a  sputtering 
gallop  had  reined  up  in  a  shower  of  mud  at  his 
stirrup,  while  six  hundred  muskets  quivered  in  the 
bare  brown  hands,  and  the  long  line  held  its 
breath  to  listen.  Then  away  shot  the  staff  officer 
back  to  his  brigade  commander.  Then  down 
£ame  the  musket  butts  on  each  broad  brogan 
father  than  in  the  mud,  in  response  to  the  col 
onel's  hoarse  "Order  arms!  Adjust  your  equip 
ment  now,  men.  In  place,  rest!"  And  a  whole 
regiment  turned  and  looked  behind  it  at  the 
column  of  cavalry  squashing  and  spattering  down 
the  wood  road  and  heading  for  the  gap  in  the  for 
est  toward  the  sound  of  the  shots,  now  dying 
#way  in  the  distance.  Whatever  it  was  that 
Sheridan  had  struck  it  was  getting  the  worst  of 


BROTHER  AGAINST  BROTHER  146 

it,  yet  fighting  savagely,  sullenly,  in  retreat.  Little 
by  little  the  sputter  of  rifle  and  carbine  grew 
faint  and  far,  and  less  and  less  rapid,  until  silence 
followed  on  the  heels  of  the  fight,  and  the  Emmets 
began  to  itch  to  get  back  to  poker.  By  this  time 
Mr.  Malloy,  very  trim  and  natty  in  garb,  had 
reached  his  post  and  relieved  Mr.  Scarcliffe  on  the 
right  of  their  front  rank.  "What  was  it?"  he 
called  out  to  his  chum,  the  aide-de-camp,  as  that 
young  gentleman,  riding  back  from  the  trail  of 
the  cavalry,  came  trotting  up  the  field. 

"Scouting  party  of  rebs.  Sheridan  got  wind  of 
'em  somehow,  and  went  out  and  surprised  'em. 
Bagged  some  game,  too." 

The  brigade  commander,  with  three  of  his  staff, 
came  leisurely  riding  out  into  the  open  field  in 
front.  He  shook  his  head  in  response  to  the 
colonel's  query  whether  he  should  dismiss,  but 
assented  to  the  proposition  that  the  regiment  be 
moved  to  higher  ground  along  the  road  where 
they  could  stack  arms,  and,  with  the  ease  of  an 
old  tactician,  the  commander  swung  his  six  hun 
dred  into  column,  and  presently,  by  division  in 
mass,  had  it  compactly  grouped,  with  stacked 
arms,  just  as  a  little  party  emerged  from  the 
woods  to  the  southeast,  and  came  slowly,  pain 
fully,  up  the  muddy  road. 

"Prisoners — prisoners!"  the  word  was  passed 
from  lip  to  lip,  and  with  eager  curiosity  necks 
were  craned  and  the  men  edged  from  their  places 
until  warned  back  by  orders.  But  the  Emmets, 
with  the  Tenth  company,  were  close  to  the  road 
and  cotdd  see  without  stirring.  First  came  three 


146  NORMAN  HOLT 

or  four  troopers  of  a  Michigan  cavalry  regiment, 
a  sergeant  in  the  lead.  Then  three  dismounted 
troopers  guarding  a  little  squad  of  five  mud- 
stained,  'weather-beaten,  sallow,  silent  fellows  in 
dirty  gray,  to  whom  little  attention  was  paid, 
because,  just  behind  them,  mounted,  but  with  his 
left  arm  slung,  and  bleeding  still,  escorted  by  a 
lieutenant  of  cavalry  and  guarded  by  a  sergeant, 
came  a  tall,  dark-eyed,  distinguished-looking 
young  officer,  bareheaded,  pallid,  dignified,  dressed 
in  the  full  uniform  of  a  major  of  the  Confederate 
army. 

The  General  and  his  staff  had  ridden  forward 
to  the  roadside.  Many  of  the  field  and  company 
officers  of  the  regiment  had  clustered  near  them. 
Other  few  had  accompanied  the  aide-de-camp  to 
Malloy's  tent,  barely  a  dozen  rods  farther  up  the 
field,  and  there,  presumably,  some  libation  was 
going  on.  Whatever  spirit  of  chaff  or  mischief 
might  have  prompted  the  rank  and  file  to  audible 
comment  on  the  appearance  of  the  party  was 
checked  by  the  uplifted  hands  of  the  nearest 
officers,  and,  in  the  midst  of  almost  impressive 
silence,  the  column  passed  along  the  rank,  and 
the  lieutenant  commanding,  pressing  forward, 
saluted  the  brigade  commander. 

"Colonel  Sheridan  sends  in  these  prisoners, 
General.  To  whom  shall  I  deliver  them?" 

"Let  them  rest  here  for  a  moment,  sir.  That 
officer  looks  faint."  Then  turning  his  horse  to 
ward  the  group,  the  commander  personally  ad 
dressed  the  wounded  man. 

"I  see  you  are  hit,  sir.    I  trust  not  seriously." 


BROTHER  AGAINST  BROTHER  147 

A  faint  flush  rose  just  an  instant  on  the  officer's 
pale  cheeks.  "It  is— of  little  consequence,  sir,"  he 
briefly  said. 

But  the  General  and  a  surgeon  were  eying  him 
closely.  Up  the  slope  behind  them  came  another 
little  mounted  party,  certain  officers  and  men  of 
the  Michigan  regiment  that  had  hastened  out  to 
the  support  of  their  chief.  With  them  rode  the 
young  Kentuckian  who  had  gone  forward  with 
Colonel  Sheridan  as  guide.  Nearing  the  top  of 
the  hill  he  slipped  from  his  saddle  and  restored 
his  mount  to  the  waiting  trooper.  It  was  the 
General  who  again  spoke.  "Who  has  some  whis 
key?"  and  a  young  officer  darted  on  the  run  to 
Malloy's  tent,  returning  presently  with  a  brim 
ming  flask,  and  followed  by  the  rest  of  the  party, 
some  of  them  wiping  their  lips.  The  General 
took  the  flask  and  returned  at  once  to  the  offi 
cer's  side. 

"Pardon  me,  major,  but  you  have  bled  heavily 
and  must  be  very  weak.  Take  a  good  pull  at 
this." 

It  was  none  too  soon,  for  the  stricken  man  was 
visibly  drooping,  swaying  in  his  saddle.  Yet  he 
strove  to  put  aside  the  flask  until  strong  arms 
lowered  him  to  the  ground  and  seated  him  on  the 
grassy  bank.  In  respectful  silence,  even  in  sym- 
pathy,  a  little  party  gathered  about  him.  Re 
vived  by  the  draught  the  wounded  officer  bowed 
his  thanks,  while  a  surgeon  began  to  make  a 
hurried  examination  of  the  arm. 

"Your  name  and  station,  sir?"  said  the  General 
presently.  "I  see  you  are  a  major  of  the  staff." 


148  NORMAN  HOLT 

The  prisoner  bowed.  "lam;  yes,  sir.  The  name, 
I  presume,  doesn't  matter." 

"And  yet  is  always  demanded,"  replied  the 
General,  smiling  gravely. 

"Then  put  it  down  as — Mclntyre,"  was  the 
hesitant  reply,  as  the  adjutant-general  opened  his 
note-book,  whereat  Lieutenant  Malloy,  who  was 
on  the  outskirts  of  the  party,  and  who  plainly 
started  at  sound  of  the  voice,  turned  swiftly  and 
signaled  to  a  young  soldier,  unarmed  and  un 
equipped — the  guide,  in  fact — who,  having  just  dis 
mounted,  was  standing  talking  in  a  low  tone 
with  the  first  sergeant  of  company  "C."  In 
stantly  he  stepped  forward  and  stood  at  salute. 

Then  the  silence  in  and  about  the  little  knot  of 
officers  surrounding  the  seated  prisoner  was 
broken,  and  Lieutenant  Malloy's  voice,  clear  and 
distinct,  was  heard: 

"General,  this  man  will  tell  you  the  prisoner's 
name  is  not  Mclntyre." 

And,  as  the  General  turned  in  surprise,  and  the 
little  group  opened  out  to  right  and  left,  the 
wounded  soldier  in  the  handsome  garb  of  gray 
looked  up  into  the  quivering  white  face  of  the 
private  soldier  in  che  coarse,  ill-fitting  suit  of 
blue — his  own  brother. 


CHAPTER  XII 

SHERIDAN'S  PROMISE 

June  Had  come  after  a  rainy  spring.  The  air 
was  heavy  with  heat  and  moisture,  the  roads 
with  mud,  and  every  man  of  the  gallant  — th 
Ohio  bore  away  a  pound,  at  least,  of  the  sacred 
soil  of  Mississippi  on  each  broad-soled  brogan 
when  the  regiment  marched  back  to  Pittsburg 
Landing,  there  to  take  the  steamer  for  parts  un 
known.  Nobody,  from  the  colonel  down,  knew 
what  was  in  the  wind. 

There  had  been  a  shaking  up  in  certain  brigades, 
a  redistribution,  as  it  were,  for  the  happiest 
results  had  not  followed  from  the  obliteration  of 
the  lines  that,  until  after  Shiloh,  kept  the  armies 
of  the  Ohio  and  Tennessee  separate  and  intact. 
They  had  been  drilled,  disciplined,  taught  on  some 
what  different  systems,  and  though  they  of  the 
Ohio  had  kicked  vigorously  during  the  process,  and 
had  blasphemed  their  cold,  serene,  inflexible  chief 
"with  Western  vim  and  fluency,  the  campaign 
had  opened  their  eyes  to  the  fact  that  now  they 
looked,  moved,  camped,  and  fought  more  like 
regulars— far  more  than  did  a  dozen  regiments  of 
the  other  army,  many  of  which  went  to  pieces  in 
the  first  day's  fight  at  Shiloh,  and  had  to  be 
licked  into  shape  long  months  thereafter. 

A  great  military  light,  prospectively,  had  been 


NORMAN  HOLT 

placed  in  supreme  command  intheWestand,shoul. 
dering  aside  the  conqueror  of  Donelson  and  the 
fighter  of  Shiloh,  and  " sidetracking"  the  soldier 
who  molded  and  made  the  army  of  the  Ohio,  the 
new  commander  took  generals  and  even  divisions 
from  the  latter  to  graft  into  the  former,  and  great 
-was  the  grief  thereat.  Corinth  was  destined  to 
fall  before  big  odds,  but  meantime  certain  cav 
alry  commanders  of  the  Confederate  side  were  hav 
ing  fun  with  our  communications.  An  impudent 
colonel  by  the  name  of  Morgan,  to  begin  with, 
had  swooped  down  on  our  trains  near  Pulaski— 
away  back  of  the  fighting  line — and  raised  the 
devil  generally,  until  rushed  in  turn  by  a  column 
from  Nashville,  wherewith  rode  and  charged  two 
regiments  of  cavalry,  Kentucky  Unionists,  both 
of  whose  colonels  were  crippled  in  the  headlong 
fight. 

Now,  when  a  man  is  well  whipped,  as  Morgan 
was  said  to  be,  he  is  expected  to  fall  back  on  his 
supports.  Therefore,  Morgan  should  have  fled 
southward.  But  he  didn't.  He  leaped  the  Cum 
berland — northward,  into  neutral  ground — ripped 
up  the  railway,  and  tore  open  trainloads  of  offi 
cers  and  supplies  away  up  at  Cave  City.  With 
the  armies  of  the  Tennessee  and  Ohio  afar  to  the 
south,  this  bold  raider  was  carrying  the  war  into 
Kentucky,  taking  prisoners  in  some  places  and 
releasing  them  in  others. 

Then  it  was  that  the  new  field-marshal  shook 
loose  several  commands,  "borrowed,"  as  the  boys 
had  it,  from  the  Army  of  the  Ohio,  and  shifted 
them  up  and  down  stream  to  strengthen  the  force 


SHERIDAN'S  PROMISE  101 

on  the  line  of  the  Tennessee.  But  Morgan  rode 
blissfully  back  to  refit  at  Chattanooga  and  repeat 
the  performance,  and  our  friends  of  the  — th  Ohio 
saw  not  so  much  as  a  switch  of  the  tail  of  the 
column.  They  were  to  hear  from  him  again,  how 
ever,  and  in  no  sportive  way — and  that  right 
soon. 

But  the  left  of  the  line  as  it  fronted  the  Southern 
guns  about  Corinth  had  had  something  to  talk 
of  for  nearly  a  week,  and  that  was  Sheridan's 
capture  and  the  dramatic  scene  that  followed. 
Little  they  looked  that  day  like  brothers,  those 
two  tall,  dark-eyed,  slender  Kentuckians,  the 
senior  garbed  in  so  handsome  and  trim-fitting  a 
uniform,  the  stars  and  gold  lace  almost  new  and 
untarnished,  his  gauntlets,  sash,  belt,  all  of  the 
finest  make  and  material,  his  handsome  face  pale 
from  the  loss  of  blood  and  excess  of  emotion, 
clean-shaven  as  to  cheek  and  chin,  his  gaze,  one 
long,  steadfast  look  of  mingled  reproach,  pity, 
almost  contempt.  There  was  no  symptom  of 
surprise  in  the  pallid  features  at  Malloy's  abrupt 
announcement,  neither  was  there  when,  as  the 
officers  drew  back,  the  figure  of  Norman  stood 
revealed  in  the  shabby  garb  of  the  soldier  of  the 
line.  It  was  he  whose  thin  face,  covered  with  its 
fuzzy  growth  of  beard,  showed  instant  and  in 
tense  distress.  Not  until  that  moment,  it  tran 
spired,  had  he  seen  the  captive.  After  having 
guided  the  squadron  and  the  fiery  young  colonel 
to  the  log  bridge  over  the  muddy  branch,  he  was 
sent  to  conduct  a  platoon  by  a  wood  path  farther 
up  the  stream,  and  so  missed  the  sight  when  the 


152  NORMAN  HQJ-  * 

reconnoitering  party  from  the  Confederate  line 
rode  into  Sheridan's  trap.  Pinned  under  his  dead 
horse  the  major  was  helpless,  and  though  the 
young  commander  of  his  escort  fought  like  a 
paladin  and  died  like  a  gentleman  in  the  effort 
to  save  him,  Henry  Holt  was  seized  and  borne  to 
the  rear,  deprived  of  his  pistols  and  a  fine  French 
saber  he  wore,  while  a  dozen  "gray- jackets"  paid 
with  life,  liberty,  or  wounds  for  the  honor  of  that 
day's  escort  duty.  It  was  Henry  who  was  first 
to  break  the  strained  silence  that  followed  Mal- 
loy's  words,  for  Norman  stood  there  choking, 
speechless,  trembling,  with  the  beaded  sweat 
starting  on  face  and  forehead. 

'  'There  is  no  need,  General.  The — officer  who 
has  just  spoken  knows  that  I  gave  my  mother's 
name,  and  that  I  am  Major  Holt." 

There  were  gentlemen  in  the  group  who  were 
quick  to  note  the  significant  pause  before,  and 
the  deliberate  choice  of  the  word  "officer."  There 
were  men  high  and  low  in  regimental  rank  -who 
thought  it  inappropriate,  to  say  the  least,  that 
Lieutenant  Malloy  should  be  selected  to  conduct 
the  prisoners  to  corps  headquarters,  full  five  miles 
away.  There  were  rough  fellows  who  clustered 
about  Corporal  Connelly's  little  tent  when  the 
Emmets  broke  ranks,  and  talked  sympathetically 
and  in  low  tones  to  him  and  Brennan,  who  stood 
guard  at  the  closed  flaps  that  Norman  might  hide 
and  think — alone.  Poor  lad !  He  lay  there,  head 
buried  in  his  arms,  and  God  alone  knew  the 
depth  of  his  trouble.  It  was  good  and  great  to 
be  loyal  to  the  old  flag  in  those  stern  days  It 


SHERIDAN'S  PROMISE  153 

called  for  the  best  and  bravest  of  every  State  in 
the  wide  Northland.  It  involved  leaving  home 
and  loved  ones  to  take  tip  arms  and  pledge  one's 
life  to  the  cause.  But  home  and  loved  ones  were 
left  in  safe  hands.  Prayers  and  blessings  followed 
the  soldier  on  his  way.  Honor  and  favor  re 
warded  his  deeds  of  valor  and  devotion,  or  tears 
and  laurels  sprinkled  and  decked  his  grave.  But 
it  was  all  different  in  the  borderland.  It  might 
well  be  that  he  who  stood  fast  by  the  Stars  and 
Stripes  must  needs  abandon  all  else,  for  here  lay 
a  soldier  scorned  by  his  kith  and  kin  and  shut 
out  from  hearth  and  home  forever.  The  night 
raid  on  Belleview  had  rent  the  last  vestige  of  a 
tie,  stricken  his  name  from  the  family  Bible  and 
the  father's  will.  Not  once,  but  twice  now,  had 
he  been  called  upon  to  guide  the  column  that 
aimed  at  the  life  or  liberty  of  his  very  own. 

It  was  God's  mercy  that  brought  old  Gaffhey 
limping  back  to  the  front  about  this  time,  or  the 
boy's  heart  might  have  broken.  He  had  begged 
permission  to  see  his  brother  before  the  latter 
was  sent  North.  It  was  the  brother  himself 
who  refused.  He  had  written  a  letter,  which  his 
colonel  read  and  forwarded,  asking  only  tidings 
of  his  father's  health  and  whereabouts,  and  Hen 
ry's  cold  reply  was  that  that  father  would  never 
forgive  him  should  he  hold  communication  with 
his  traitor  son.  Gafmey,  in  his  crude  but  hearty 
way,  went  sturdily  to  work  to  bring  comfort  to 
the  lad.  The  brave  Irishman  had  won  the  praise 
of  a  fighting  division  commander  at  Shiloh,  and 
their  "dandy"  colonel,  who  had  hitherto  seen 


,64  NORMAN  HOLT 

little  to  like  in  the  Emmets'  leader,  wanned  to 
the  fellow  who  could  so  splendidly  handle  his 
company  in  battle,  even  if  he  couldn't  on  battal 
ion  drill.  In  plain  words  GafFney  said  it  was  time 
a  "bye"  that  had  lost  so  much  through  his  loy 
alty  should  gain  something  by  way  of  reward. 
"Twicet,  now,"  said  Gafrhey,  "Holt's  had  to  do 
dewty  the  divil  himself  might  dodge,  with  divil 
a  thanks,  but  kicks,  from  both  sides.  Ye — 
wouldn't  even  make  him  a  sergeant,  bedad!" 

"I  couldn't,"  said  the  colonel,  "against  the 
recommendation  of  the  company  commander." 

"His  name  was  furrst  on  the  list,"  said  Gaffhey, 
"an'  that — slick  wan,  Malloy,  cut  it  off  and  sticks 
in  Thrott.  Is  it  me  or  Malloy  commands  the 
Emmets,  sorr?" 

"You,  when  you're  here,  captain,"  answered  the 
chief,  with  all  patience  and  toleration,  for  he 
respected  the  man's  bravery,  and,  despite  all 
innuendoes  and  warnings,  was  beginning  to  be 
lieve  his  protegt  an  injured,  a  deeply  injured,  man. 
Still,  it  'wouldn't  do  to  fly  in  the  face  of  Provi 
dence  and  the  Governor  and  adjutant-general 
and  Senator  Malloy,  all  of  whom  would  have  it, 
apparently,  that  young  Holt  was  little  better 
than  a  spy.  There  was  no  vacancy  now  among 
the  non-commissioned  officers  of  Company  "C," 
and  even  Gafrhey  couldn't  expect  him  to  revoke 
the  warrants  given  in  his  absence. 

"Remember,"  said  the  colonel,  "we  feared  it 
might  be  months  before  you  could  rejoin,  and 
meantime  the  law  made  Mr.  Malloy  the  com 
mander.  I'm  sorry,  but  I  don't  see  what  can  be 


SHERIDAN'S  PROMISE  165 

Uone.    Colonel  Sheridan  is  the  man  to  help  him 
now." 

Full  of  worldly  wisdom  -was  the  colonel.  Well 
he  knew  that  any  recognition  he  might  offer  the 
lad  would  injure  his  own  prospects  with  the 
powers  behind  the  throne,  but  not  a  whit  did  he 
object  to  some  one  else's  burning  his  fingers  in 
the  attempt,  especially  Sheridan.  Sheridan  was  a 
Buckeye  boy  himself.  Sheridan  had  begged  for  an 
Ohio  regiment  and  couldn't  get  one,  for  that 
young  regular  had  no  influence  whatever  in  his 
own  State.  Ohio's  regiments  were  given  as  a  rule 
to  Ohio's  famous  names  and  favorite  sons,  and 
there  were  scores  of  them.  It  was  Michigan  that 
saw  the  soldier  stuff  in  that  keen-eyed,  short- 
legged  little  quartermaster,  and  set  him  in  saddle 
at  the  head  of  her  new  cavalry  regiment,  where, 
within  a  week,  he  was  carrying  dismay,  not  only 
to  the  enemy,  but  to  comrade  colonels  on  the 
lookout  for  stars.  Now  if  Sheridan  saw  fit  to 
take  up  the  cudgels  for  Holt,  and  thereby  rub 
wrong  way  the  fur  of  Ohio's  politico-military 
clique,  so  much  the  worse  for  Sheridan's  chances 
and  the  better  for  his  own.  Small  "wonder  the 
colonel  so  suggested  to  Gaffhey,  and  "Cap,"  full 
of  his  subject  and  half-full  of  poteen  (the  honest 
Irishman  had  brought  a  cruiskeen — a  "kag,"  as 
he  called  it— back  to  the  front),  with  the  aid  of 
a  brother  Celt  on  the  commissioned  list,  now 
composed  a  letter  to  the  swart  little  cavalry 
colonel,  and  sent  it,  just  as  the  regiment  got  the 
route  for  the  Tennessee  and  the  colonel  the  news 
that  his  plans  were  all  in  vain.  Corinth  was 


156  NORMAN  HOLT 

abandoned  by  Beauregard.  The  Michigan  troop 
ers  got  back  from  a  dashing  raid  to  the  enemy's 
rear.  The  star  would  probably  light  on  Sheridan's 
shoulder,  and  away  he  would  go  to  the  head  of 
a  brigade.  Ohio's  neglect  had  proved  a  blessing 
in  disguise. 

The  night  they  got  to  Pittsburg  Landing  was 
dark,  wet,  and  dreary.  The  colonel  was  crabbed ; 
the  captain  was  sore.  Even  the  Emmets  "were 
still.  Tied  up  alongshore  were  a  number  of  stern- 
wheeled  packets,  some  laden  with  sick  and 
wounded,  some  with  convalescents,  some  with 
stores,  some  with  troops,  bound,  like  themselves, 
they  knew  not  whither.  Pine-knot  torches  glowed 
at  the  gangplank  of  each  transport,  and  staff 
officers  were  bustling  about.  "Got  one  or  two 
men  who  can  act  as  clerks  to  make  out  some 
papers,  Gaffney?"  shouted  an  overworked  com 
missary  from  the  guards  of  the  River  Queen. 

"Faith,  we're  all  clarks  in  "C"  company,"  said 
honest  Terence.  "Go  you,  Holt  and  Brennan. 
It'll  get  you  out  of  the  wet,  anyhow."  And  the 
two  soldiers  were  shown  where  to  stow  their 
belongings  aboard  the  packet  and  quickly  set  to 
work  in  the  improvised  office.  Presently  the 
measured  tramp  of  the  men  was  heard,  as  the 
foremost  company  came  filing  aboard,  and  soon 
the  brightly  lighted  cabin  began  to  fill  with 
officers-— some  of  the  Ohios,  several  of  the  staff, 
among  these  latter  the  young  aide-de-camp  so  well 
known  to  the  regiment  during  the  dreary  "weeks 
they  held  down  the  left  of  the  line.  He  was 
talking  excitedly,  had  been  reading  from  a  Louis- 


SHERIDAN'S  PROMISE  15? 

ville  paper,  and  every  now  and  then,  strive 
though  he  might  to  confine  his  attention  to  the 
columns  of  candles,  soap,  salt,  and  pepper  danc 
ing  before  his  tired  eyes,  Norman  Holt  could  not 
but  catch  an  occasional  word.  "Lord,  yes. 
Whisked  off  the  whole  carload !  Paroled  a  dozen 
at  Lebanon !  Yes,  both  colonels  wounded,  Wolford 
and  Green  Clay  Smith!"  Norman's  heart  sank. 
How  familiar  sounded  the  old  Kentucky  names! 
Then  came  something  more  startling.  "Hullo, 
Malloy!  Ain't  you  glad  your  prisoners  were 
taken  off  your  hands  at  the  front?" 

"Why?"  growled  Malloy,  for  he  wasn't  at  all. 
He  had  secretly  hoped  to  be  sent  on  to  Nashville 
in  charge  of  them. 

"Why?  Lord,  man,  haven't  you  heard?  Regu 
lar  jail  delivery  on  the  Louisville  and  Nashville. 
Whole  carload  got  away,  and  Major  Holt  with 
them.  They  say  Morgan  ran  them  off  to  Chatta 
nooga.  But  it  will  cost  Bates  his  commission. 
He  was  officer  of  the  guard,  and  Buell's  ordered 
him  court-martialed  and  the  three  sentries  shot." 

"Sentries  shot!"  cried  Gafrhey,  aghast.  "Ye 
don't  mean  it,  man!  Shure  that's — that's  barba- 
rious!" 

"Can't  help  it,"  was  the  curt  answer.  "Buell's 
given  warning  twice  already.  There  have  been 
too  many  cases  of  sleeping  on  post  in  presence  of 
the  enemy.  The  articles  of  war  are  explicit — the 
soldier  found  guilty  must  suffer  death,  and  those 
fellows  were  regularly  tried,  convicted,  sentenced, 
and  now  Buell  has  ordered  the  sentence  executed." 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence.    Sentences  as 


158  NORMAN  HOLT 

severe  had  been  deservedly  awarded,  both  in  the 
Army  of  the  Potomac  and  in  the  West,  but  some 
power  had  interposed  to  save  the  victim.  The 
time  had  come,  however,  when  the  soldier  had  to 
learn  that,  harsh,  stern,  merciless  as  such  sentences 
might  seem,  it  was  just,  it  was  necessary.  The 
safety  of  the  army,  the  lives  of  thousands  of  sleep 
ing  men,  all  depended  upon  the  vigilance  of  the 
sentry.  Should  he  fail  all  might  be  lost.  Death 
was  just  punishment  for  him  who  slept  at  the 
post  of  duty.  Even  the  plea  that  drugged  liquor 
had  been  given  the  two  soldiers  in  this  case 
availed  them  nothing.  Liquor  was  the  last  thing 
they  should  have  taken  when  on  guard. 

A  harsh  voice  at  Holt's  elbow  roused  him  from 
the  half  stupor  in  which  he  listened  to  the  an 
nouncement  of  his  brother's  escape,  and  the  terri 
ble  consequences.  "Come,  young  man,  don't  go 
to  sleep,  or  six  companies  will  go  to  bed  supper- 
less!"  And,  pulling  himself  together  with  an 
effort,  Norman  again  applied  his  wits  to  the 
figures  before  him.  Henry  escaped !  Carried  away 
to  Chattanooga !  And  Union  soldiers  to  be  shot — 
for  sleeping  on  post — failing  to  give  warning — 
letting  him  go!  It  seemed  as  though  he  could 
never  complete  the  copies  required.  The  hour  of 
labor  spun  out  interminably.  He  heard  company 
after  company  come  tramping  aboard  until  six 
were  stowed  away  on  the  River  Queen.  He 
heard  the  clanging  of  the  engine  bells  and  the  hiss 
of  steam,  as  the  packet  slowly  glided  away  upon 
the  still  waters  of  the  Tennessee.  He  felt  hir 
captain's  broad  hand  on  his  shoulder— a  sign  of 


SHERIDAN'S  PROMISE  159 

wordless  sympathy — and  bowed  lower  his  tired 
head.  Then  again  he  strove  to  go  on  with  the 
work.  Brennan  had  finished  his  task  and  stole 
silently  out  to  join  his  comrades  and  tell  the 
grewsome  story,  but  Norman  ruined  three  blanks 
to  one  he  finished  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  staff 
sergeant  in  charge.  At  last  it  was  done,  and  he 
stumbled  out  on  deck  to  lean  against  the  rail  and 
let  the  cool  night  air  play  upon  his  hot  forehead. 
Henry  escaped !  He  could  not  but  rejoice  at  that. 
But  those  poor  fellows — two  of  them — to  be  shot 
in  consequence!  He  shuddered,  and  covered  his 
face  with  his  hands. 

Between  flat-wooded  banks  the  broad  stream 
was  sweeping,  the  Queen  floating,  noiseless,  with 
the  flood.  Below,  the  men  had  been  comforted 
with  coffee  and  hardtack,  and  were  dozing  off  on 
their  blankets.  In  the  cabin  two  or  three  parties 
of  officers  were  at  cards  or  chat.  Only  a  few 
appeared  outside.  A  wooden  shelf  ran  along 
the  rail,  a  narrow  seat,  and  upon  this  Norman 
dropped  and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands.  He 
could  not  yet  go  below  and  join  his  comrades. 
He  craved  to  be  alone  if  only  to  think  a  few 
moments.  Three  or  four  officers,  wrapped  in  their 
overcoats  and  sprawling  on  big  chairs  or  on 
blankets  on  the  deck,  were  sensibly  preparing  for 
possible  work  on  the  morrow  by  sound  sleep  at 
night.  There  was  no  one  to  say  him  nay,  at 
least  there  was  none  when  he  first  appeared,  but 
presently  the  door  to  the  cabin  opened  and  the 
form  of  a  young  officer  came  quickly  forth.  The 
door  slammed  after  him,  and  he  stood  at  the  rail 


160  NORMAN  HOLT 

alone.  Then,  in  a  moment,  as  his  eyes  be 
came  accustomed  to  the  darkness,  he  glanced 
about  him  at  the  two  or  three  recumbent  forms 
on  one  hand,  at  the  lonely,  seated  figure  on 
the  other.  A  moment  more  he  stood  irresolute, 
then  stepped  quickly  to  the  latter  and  laid  a 
heavy  hand  upon  the  shoulder.  Norman  looked 
up  instantly,  rose  quickly  to  his  feet  and  stood 
at  salute. 

"You  know  perfectly  well,  sir,"  said  the  officer, 
in  cold,  cutting  tone,  "you  have  no  business  here. 
Go  below,  where  you  belong." 

A  lump  seemed  to  spring  to  Norman's  throat. 
He  essayed  to  speak,  but  no  words  would  come. 
Silently  he  faced  about,  and  obeying  the  menacing, 
pointing  finger,  moved  wearily  to  the  stairway 
a  few  yards  forward.  At  the  foot  he  encountered 
the  sergeant-major.  "Just  looking  for  you,  Holt. 
Report  to  the  colonel  in  the  after-cabin  at  once," 
were  the  staff  sergeant's  crisp  -words. 

The  shortest  way  was  up  the  stairs  again,  and 
in  a  trice  he  stood  upon  the  deck  from  which  but 
the  moment  before  he  had  been  so  summarily 
ordered.  There  stood  the  officer,  his  first  lieuten 
ant,  his  back  toward  him,  busily  tearing  a  sheet 
of  paper  into  fragments  and  throwing  them  care 
fully  overboard.  Dim  as  was  the  light,  Norman 
could  see  with  sufficient  plainness  that  a  letter  of 
size  was  being  reduced  to  scraps. 

But  why  should  Malloy  start  and  grasp  the 
little  wooden  pillar  of  the  covered  way  as  he 
turned  and  faced  him?  Norman  could  have  sworn 
he  was  livid,  trembling,  and  the  voice  with  which 


SHERIDAN'S  PROMISE  161 

lie  spoke  was  harsh  and  shaking  with  mingled 
wrath  and  dread. 

"I— I  ordered  you  below,  sir.  How  dare  you 
disobey?" 

"The  colonel  orders  me  back,"  was  the  reply, 
as  the  dark  eyes,  mournful,  but  burning  with  a 
sense  of  indignity  and  wrong — lighting,  too,  with 
strange  interest  at  sight  of  the  other's  evident 
alarm — gazed  straight  into  the  steely  blue.  "May 
I  be  allowed  to  pass?" 

For  a  moment  Malloy  stood  as  though  halt 
minded  to  again  speak,  but  a  door  opened  at 
the  instant,  Gaffhey's  jovial  brogue  rang  out  on 
the  night.  "Shure,  I'll  find  him  at  wanst,  colonel. 
'Twill  be  glad  news  to  him— as  it  is  to  me." 

"Damnation!"  muttered  Malloy,  as  he  turned 
and  hurried  away. 

A  moment  later  and  the  tall  young  soldier  was 
standing  at  attention,  cap  in  hand,  in  front  of  the 
colonel,  who,  seated  at  one  side  of  the  cabin,  his 
adjutant  standing  by  the  sofa,  and  other  officers 
grouped  about  him,  leisurely  looked  up  from  the 
papers  he  held  in  his  hand. 

"Holt,"  said  he,  "I  have  a  letter  from  Colonel 
Sheridan,  one  paragraph  of  which  will  interest 
you.  He  thanks  us  for  the  prompt  support  given 
him  the  morning  of  the  27th  before  starting  on 
his  way  to  Booneville,  and  says  that  but  for  his 
guide  he  couldn't  have  nabbed  the  rebel  scouting 
party  with  their  important  papers,  and,  referring 
to  letters  written ; — ahum — m,  written,  hum-m — in 
your  behalf,  says :  'I  have  heard  so  much  in  favor 
of  that  young  soldier  and  was  so  well  impressed 


163  NORMAN  HOLT 

with  Mm  that  I  have  written  urging  his  being 
commissioned  a  first  lieutenant  in  my  regiment. 
He  may  look  for  it  before  the  middle  of  July.'  " 
But  before  the  middle  of  July  the  young  colonel 
had  stepped  up  to  the  stars  and  said  good-by  to 
the  Second  Michigan.  Before  the  middle  of  July 
Norman  Holt  was  a  prisoner  under  guard,  or 
dered  to  face  a  general  court-martial — on  trial 
for  his  life. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

ASLEEP  ON  POST 

Under  the  burning  summer  suns,  over  the  glaring 
pike,  powdered  and  choked  by  limestone  dust 
thick  and  thirst-provoking,  shedding  their  knap 
sacks  whenever  they  dared,  and  wondering  where 
on  earth  they  were  going  and  wherefore,  the 
Buckeyes,  with  the  Emmets  at  the  tail  of  the 
column  much  of  the  way,  tramped  wearily  east 
ward  through  a  landscape  that  under  other  con 
ditions  would  have  charmed  the  senses  with  its 
beauty.  Beauregard  having  abandoned  Corinth 
and  scattered  his  forces— many  going  to  strengthen 
Bragg  about  Chattanooga— it  behooved  the  Union 
leaders  to  look  out  for  the  approaches  to  Nash 
ville  and  to  take  measures  to  check  those  enter 
prising  troopers,  Messrs.  Forrest  and  Morgan,  who 
skipped  through  the  South  like  the  Irishman's 
flea,  and  were  here,  there,  and  everywhere  among 
our  communications.  It  was  away  toward  the 
fag  end  of  June  that  the  men  of  this  hardy, 
seasoned  regiment,  including  that  hard-swearing 
company,  the  Emmets,  found  themselves  camped 
near  the  railway,  with  Tullahoma  not  too  many 
miles  off  to  permit  of  occasional  sorties,  by  squad, 
armed  only  with  canteens;  and  here  were  they 
bidden  to  watch  the  road,  guard  the  railway 
bridge,  and  see  to  it  that  Johnny  Reb  didn't 


164  NORMAN  HOLT 

rip  up  the  rails  or  burn  the  Howe  truss  right 
under  their  regimental  noses. 

Then  two  companies  were  sent  up  the  track 
to  look  after  the  bridge  at  Frenchman's  Creek, 
and  two  more  across  the  right  of  way  to  pro 
tect  the  stone  arch  that  carried  the  pike  over 
a  brawling  little  mountain  stream  that  came 
tumbling  from  the  Cumberlands.  Then  a  di 
vision  General  had  to  part  with  the  cavalry 
squadron  detailed  as  his  escort— and  we  had 
not  a  few  alleged  generals  who  conceived  that 
cavalry  had  no  higher  use  or  function — so  the 
Buckeyes  had  to  furnish  two  more  companies 
as  headquarters  guard,  the  penalty  for  being 
second  only  to  the  regulars  in  point  of  set-up  and 
style,  and  that  left  four  companies  to  protect  four 
miles  of  track,  and  the  pleasing  occupation  of 
damning  general  officers  in  general  and  one  in 
particular  for  everything  indecent  he  could  think 
of.  When  a  man's  whole  ambition  is  set  on  win 
ning  the  star  and  the  yellow  sash,  it  is  trying  to 
command,  instead  of  four  regiments  and  a  battery, 
only  four  companies  and  a  band.  Colonel  Pride 
had  done  his  best  to  "stand  in"  with  his  state 
officers  at  Columbus,  and  labored  to  make  his 
regiment  everything  it  should  be  in  point  of  drill, 
discipline,  and  efficiency.  He  had  counted  on 
Buckeye  backing  to  make  him  a  general  a  month 
back,  but  the  star  had  not  come.  On  the  con 
trary,  it  would  seem  that,  in  spite  of  Ohio,  it 
was  going  to  Sheridan,  for  the  story  was  all 
over  the  army  already  that  Halleck  had  recom 
mended  the  short-legged,  snapping-eyed  little 


ASLEEP  ON  POST  165 

quartermaster  for  a  generalship  before  he  had 
been  colonel  of  cavalry  more  than  a  month.  It  was 
rough  on  Pride,  who  held  that  Sheridan  owed  his 
first  success  to  the  advice  and  counsel  he  got  from 
the  Buckeyes,  and  the  only  recognition  they  were 
to  get  was  a  letter  of  thanks  and  a  commission 
for  Private  Holt. 

It  was  time,  by  the  way,  for  that  commission 
to  be  along,  thought  Pride,  and  so  said  old 
Gaffney.  So,  too,  said  the  Emmets,  who  were, 
as  they  put  it,  "rejoiceful"  over  the  news,  and, 
unbeknownst  to  Norman,  had  clubbed  together, 
subscribed  a  goodly  sum  on  paper  to  be  collected 
at  pay  day,  and  had  gotten  "Cap"  to  send  an 
order  to  Louisville  for  as  handsome  a  sash,  belt, 
and  sword  as  money  could  buy.  "Cap"  was  far 
from  well.  He  had  rejoined  too  soon,  and  had 
limped  half  across  the  State  of  Tennessee,  ambu 
lance  scorning,  and  now  the  Shiloh  wound  was 
giving  no  end  of  trouble  again,  and  the  doctors 
ordered  him  into  camp  hospital,  which  once  more 
threw  Malloy  in  command  of  the  Emmets,  and 
that  wasn't  the  best  thing  that  could  have  hap 
pened  to  Holt. 

With  every  day  now,  however,  Norman  had  been 
gaining  in  health  and  strength,  for  hope  is  a  noble 
tonic.  He  had  won  a  friend  worth  having  in 
that  little  colonel  of  Wolverine  cavalry.  He  felt 
sure  of  Eny art's  interest.  He  had  received  a  warm 
hearted  letter  from  that  gifted  young  staff  officer, 
written  at  Nashville,  on  his  way  again  to  the 
front.  But  there  was  one  paragraph  in  it  that 
gave  him  mingled  joy  and  concern.  "My  orders 


166  NORMAN  HOLT 

took  me  to  Frankfort,  Harrodsburg,  and  Lexing 
ton,  but  I  did  not  get  nearer  to  Asholt.  At 
Lexington,  however,  I  met  some  warm  friends  of 
yours,  the  Rajs,  and  Miss  Kate  was  especially 
cordial  in  all  she  said  of  you.  Her  letter,  how 
ever,  told  you  all  I  could,  and  more." 

Her  letter !  Norman  had  received  no  letter,  and 
his  heart  had  been  sore  indeed  over  her  silence, 
for  if  Kate  Ray  would  not  answer  him  he  was 
truly  friendless  in  his  native  State.  There  had 
been  a  dozen  packages  of  letters  and  papers  for 
the  Emmets  since  they  left  the  line  at  Corinth, 
but  never  a  word  for  him.  He  asked  Trott,  the 
first  sergeant,  if  he  had  seen  anything,  and  Trott 's 
answer  was,  "Nothing  since  Pittsburg  Landing," 
where  several  sacks  of  letters  and  papers  met 
them  as  they  boarded  the  River  Queen,  and  Trott 
remembered  distinctly  there  was  a  letter  for  Holt 
— a  thick  letter  addressed  in  a  lady's  hand.  There 
were  some  for  Brennan,  too.  The  boys  were  all 
"crowding  round"  when  the  bag  was  opened  on 
the  lower  deck,  and  some  one  of  them — he  forgot 
who — said  Brennan  and  Holt  were  working  at 
commissary  papers  in  the  cabin  above,  and  he 
would  take  them  up.  Later  Corporal  Connelly 
recalled  the  same  thing.  He  was  on  guard  and 
couldn't  go.  "Let's  see,  who  was  it  took  them? 
Why,  yes,  it  was  Lynch — him  that  was  Malloy's 
striker,"  and  Lynch  had  long  since  been  sent 
back  to  Nashville,  sick  of  a  fever.  Brennan  was 
questioned.  Yes,  Brennan  got  two  letters  that 
evening  on  the  Queen.  Some  fellow  handed  them 
to  him.  It  wasn't  Lynch.  It  was  the  commissary 


ASLEEP  ON  POST  167 

captain's  clerk   or  sergeant,   he  wasn't  certain 
which. 

Then  there  had  been  a  letter,  a  thick  letter  for 
him,  and  from  Kate  Ray,  and  he  never  got  it, 
nor  could  he  find  the  man  to  tell  what  had  be 
come  of  it.  He  went  and  notified  Gaffhey  of  this 
new  trouble,  and  Gafihey  could  only  sympathize 
and  regret,  but  when  Norman  returned  to  camp 
he  was  approached  by  Sergeant  Trott  and  awk 
wardly  informed  that  Lieutenant  Malloy  ordered 
that  hereafter  he  apply  for  permission  before  he 
ventured  to  go  so  far  from  his  company.  As  the 
Emmets  were  far-reaching  foragers  and  given  to 
exploring  without  consulting  their  first  lieutenant, 
this  seemed  an  invidious  distinction,  but  Norman 
silently  accepted  it  all.  It  probably  would  last 
only  a  short  time  at  most.  Both  Colonel  Pride 
and  Captain  Enyart  were  confident  the  commis 
sion  would  come  within  a  few  days,  for  the  former 
had  secured  the  favorable  recommendation  of  Gen 
eral  Buell  himself,  and,  as  Buell  was  more  apt 
to  criticise  than  commend  the  appointments  in 
the  volunteers,  that  was  considered  a  feather  in 
Norman's  cap  and  a  slap  at  the  State  officials 
at  Columbus.  There  had  not  been  lacking  mis 
chievous  flings  at  Malloy  when  the  matter  was 
first  noised  about  the  regiment.  Some  of  his 
brother  officers  made  the  mistake  of  twitting  him 
or  trying  to,  but  the  man  who  had  shown  such 
agitation  and  nervousness  the  night  on  the  River 
Queen  was  as  placidly  unconcerned,  to  all  appear 
ances,  as  he  had  been  the  day  Gafihey  read  him 
Enyart's  desrciption  of  the  scene  at  the  hospital. 


16S  NORMAN  HOLT 

Only  one  thing  did  he  say  that  could  be  construed 
into  a  reflection  on  the  proposed  appointment  and 
those  who  advocated  it.  "So  General  Buell  has 
urged  it,  has  he?"  pensively  spoke  Malloy,  with 
something  that  could  hardly  pass  for  a  smile,  yet 
not  be  called  a  sneer.  "Well,  it  isn't  the  first  time 
that  gentleman  has  been  pronounced  a  Southern 
sympathizer." 

But  while  preserving  an  unruffled  front  toward 
his  associates  it  was  observed  that  Lieutenant 
Malloy's  letters  to  his  father  redoubled  in  length 
and  frequency  for  the  fortnight  after  they  left  the 
Queen.  "He'll  thrick  ye  if  he  can,  me  boy,"  said 
Gafmey.  "Faith,  I  wish  you  were  an  Irish  demo 
crat  'stead  av  a  blue  grass  loyalist.  Then  there's 
nothing  could  bate  ye  out  av  it." 

Then  all  of  a  sudden  guard  duty  became  doubly 
hard.  The  visits  to  Gaflney  were  stopped,  and  the 
Emmets  were  swearing  over  having  sentry,  picket 
and  patrol  every  other  night,  and  being  at  last 
kept  within  bounds ;  not  so  much  from  restraint 
from  within  as  pressure  from  without— the  whole 
country  became  suddenly  alive  with  gray-coated 
cavalry. 

One  still  night  the  last  week  in  June  a  little 
picket  post — four  men  of  the  Emmets — was  thrown 
out  some  four  hundred  yards  up-stream  from  the 
nearest  supports.  The  brook,  after  swirling  and 
foaming  down  a  thickly  -wooded  ravine,  opened 
out  over  some  leafy  shallows,  where  the  trees 
overhung  the  placid  pool.  A  little  foot  bridge  had 
been  built  across  the  stream  at  the  point  where 
it  narrowed  again,  and  went  meandering  through 


ASLEEP  ON  POST  160 

a  charming  landscape  southwestward  on  its  long, 
winding  way  to  the  Tennessee.  Farm  lands, 
houses,  and  buildings  dotted  the  billowing  surface 
here  and  there  toward  the  railway  embankment 
to  the  west.  The  white  tents  of  Pride's  four 
companies  gleamed  in  the  sunshine  close  to  the 
wooden  truss  bridge  that  bore  the  iron  way  across 
the  swirling  waters.  Parallel  with  the  railway, 
and  five  hundred  yards  east  of  it,  ran  the  dingy 
line  of  the  pike,  while,  still  farther  toward  the 
foothills,  at  the  fork  of  two  wood  roads,  a  good 
three-quarter  mile  from  camp,  stood  a  little  frame 
church  where  famous  Ethiopian  preachers  ofttimes 
exhorted  in  the  past,  and  where  now  a  rude 
soldiery  stacked  arms  without  and  spread  blank 
ets  within.  It  was  the  post  of  the  reserve  of  the 
picket  guard  of  the  Buckeyes,  the  post  from  which 
the  supports  were  thrown  out,  fanlike,  through 
the  woods ;  and  on  this  night  in  June,  soft,  still, 
and  sensuous,  half  the  Emmets  were  covering  that 
southeastward  front  with  Lieutenants  Malloy 
and  Scarcliffe  in  command.  "Use  the  utmost  vig 
ilance,"  were  Pride's  stern  orders  at  nightfall. 
"That  is  where  they'll  try  to  break  through,  if 
through  anywhere,  and  we  want  no  reb  cavalry 
running  off  our  fellows  in  rear  of  the  line." 

The  Emmets  were  tired  and  worn.  There  had 
been  an  alarm  the  previous  night,  and  a  long 
reconnoissance.  Some  of  them  had  not  slept  six 
hours  in  thirty-six,  and  felt  seedy  in  consequence. 
After  midnight,  when  Corporal  Connelly  should 
have  relieved  Private  Darcy  at  the  foot  bridge, 
it  was  Brennan's  turn,  and  Brennan  was  sleeping 


170  NORMAN  HOLT 

soundly  and  as  wearily  as  a  tired  child.  He  had 
been  failing  strangely  of  late,  and  seemed  far  from 
well.  "Let  him  sleep,  Connelly,"  said  Norman. 
'Til  take  his  turn.  Then  if  he's  all  right  at  three 
he  can  take  mine.  If  not,  I  can  stand  it."  And 
so  it  was  Connelly  and  Holt  that  went  forward 
toward  one  o'clock  and  found  Darcy  crouching 
by  the  north  abutment  of  the  little  bridge  and 
more  than  glad  of  their  coming.  "I  can  hardly 
keep  my  eyes  open,"  said  he,  "an'  I  haven't  seen 

nor  heard  a  d n  thing  'cep  that  time  I  whistled. 

Cavalry  ain't  coming  up  to  no  foot  bridge." 

"No,  but  cavalry  can  ford  these  shallows  easy 
enough.  Same  old  signals,  Holt.  Take  your 
post."  And  away  went  the  corporal  with  Darcy 
stumbling  alongside,  leaving  Norman  to  himself 
again. 

It  was  as  breathless  a  night  as  the  young  sol 
dier  had  known  in  the  whole  campaign,  and  the 
day  had  been  almost  insufferably  hot.  Some 
where  toward  noon  there  had  been  a  lively  stir 
along  the  picket  line  west  of  the  railway,  where 
a  valiant  regiment  of  Hoosiers  held  the  ground. 
For  twenty  minutes  the  crackle  of  musketry  had 
been  so  brisk  as  to  bring  the  brigade  into  line, 
and  later  to  cause  patrols  to  push  forward  all 
along  the  front.  They  found  three  dead  horses, 
but  the  visiting  troopers  had  left  nothing  else 
beyond  a  favorable  impression  and  a  written 
promise,  tacked  to  a  tree  at  the  bend  of  the  pike, 
to  "call  again  in  the  near  future."  Then  a  squad 
ron  of  Kentucky  horse  pushed  out  on  each  of  four 
southward  leading  roads,  and  for  two  hours 


ASLEEP  ON  POST  171 

rummaged  the  woods  without  finding  a  thing, 
the  pickets  meanwhile  being  alert  and  eager. 
But  just  about  supper  time,  away  to  the  left 
front,  the  southeast,  the  explorers  stumbled  on  a 
stronger  force,  had  a  sharp  set-to  with  sabers  and 
Colts,  and  then  had  to  give  way.  After  that  all 
was  quiet  again  from  sundown  to  midnight,  save 
only  the  mournful  plaint  of  the  whip-poor-wills, 
but  even  they  had  ceased  as  the  night  wore  on. 
"Johnny  Reb  is  as  tired  as  we  are,"  said  Scarcliffe, 
when  visiting  the  outer  line  of  pickets  at  mid 
night.  "Johnny  Reb  is  never  so  much  to  be 
dreaded  as  when  he  is  still,"  said  the  colonel,  as 
he,  too,  made  the  rounds  on  his  ambling  charger. 
"Watch  for  all  you're  worth,  men,  and  whate ver 
happens  hold  your  ground  as  long  as  you  possibly 
can." 

Every  caution  spoke  of  the  need  of  sleepless 
vigilance.  The  covering  force  was  small,  but  all 
that  could  be  spared  at  the  moment,  and,  as 
Pride  said,  enough  to  stand  off  double  their 
weight.  The  General  had  faith  in  the  Buckeyes 
and  he  didn't  spare  them. 

It  is  one  thing  to  pace  up  and  down  a  beaten 
path  and  be  alert  and  vigilant.  It  is  another  to 
crouch  or  lie  upon  some  grassy  bank,  and,  keeping 
one's  self  hidden  from  possible  foe  at  the  front, 
to  also  keep  "wide  awake.  Away  to  the  east, 
up-stream,  the  drowsy  plash  and  murmur  of  the 
waters  fell  in  soft  monotone  upon  the  ear.  From 
time  to  time  some  swift-winged  insect  beat  the 
heavy  air  with  soft,  humming  sound  that  steeped 
the  senses  like  an  opiate.  Over  the  bosom  of  the 


172  NORMAN  HOLT 

waters,  in  noiseless  flight,  swooped  and  circled  a 
brace  of  bats,  and  once  in  a  while,  answering 
some  imperceptible  breath  of  the  night,  the  reeds 
and  rushes  under  the  bridge,  the  thick  foliage  in 
the  overhanging  trees,  stirred  with  languorous 
murmur,  and  the  lone  sentry  found  his  eyelids 
closing  with  heaviness.  Twice  he  shook  himself 
awake;  twice  he  half  rose,  and,  crouching  still, 
moved  noiselessly  about  in  effort  to  banish  the 
perilous  temptation.  Toward  three  o'clock  Mr. 
Scarcliffe  again  came  creeping  up  the  narrow 
pathway  from  the  picket,  and  there  was  a  brief 
muttered  conference.  "I  thought  you'd  be  on 
later,  Holt,"  "whispered  the  lieutenant.  "Just  be 
fore  dawn  is  the  dangerous  hour.  That's  why  we 
had  you  on  third  relief." 

"I'm  taking  Brennan's  place,"  was  the  answer. 
"He's  played  out.  If  you  wish,  I'll  stick  to  it 
until  sunrise.  There  hasn't  been  a  sound  thus 
far."  And  Scarcliffe  went  back  to  the  reserve  and 
said  the  foot  bridge  was  all  right  anyhow,  with 
Holt  there  till  sun  up,  whereat  Mallov,  pacing 
nervously  up  and  down  in  front  of  the  wooden 
church,  whirled  about  and  asked  how  that  could 
be,  and  'was  told. 

A  little  later  the  senior  officer  of  the  guard 
called  up  the  sergeant  of  the  reserve  and  bade 
him  send  two  men  to  camp  with  orders  to  bring 
out  between  them  a  kettle  of  coffee,  as  hot  as 
possible.  They  were  back  in  half  an  hour  or  so, 
and  Malloy,  after  seeing  coffee  distributed  to  the 
waking  men  of  the  guard,  told  the  carriers  to 
follow  him  out  to  the  supports  and  pickets,  where 


ASLEEP  ON  POST  173 

men  also  drank  the  comforting  cup,  and  went 
about  their  duty  refreshed,  thankful  to  the  officer 
who  at  times  seemed  so  thoughtful.  At  Connel 
ly's  picket  Brennan  still  slept  the  sleep  of  weak 
ness  and  exhaustion,  so  they  did  not  rouse  him. 
But  the  corporal  and  Private  Darcy  were  glad  of 
a  steaming  mug  and  a  nibble  of  hardtack,  and 
then  Connelly  bethought  him  of  Holt,  one  hun 
dred  yards  further  out  to  the  front  at  the  edge  of 
the  water.  "Oh,  certainly,"  said  the  lieutenant, 
"by  all  means,  and  to  the  other  sentries  up  and 
down  stream." 

"They  come  in  now,  sir,"  said  the  sergeant. 
"Only  Holt  stays — doing  double  duty  to-night." 

"Then  carry  him  a  couple  of  hardtack  and  give 
me  the  biggest  tin  cup  you've  got,"  said  Malloy. 
"Lead  on,  corporal." 

It  was  then  about  quarter  of  four.  Away  out 
to  the  south  and  southwest  the  night  seemed  to 
be  waking  up.  The  distant  bark  of  watch-dogs 
broke  the  silence,  and  in  the  forest  beyond  the 
stream  a  lone  whip-poor-will  had  again  roused 
and  was  pouring  his  weird  plaint  into  the  drowsy 
ear  of  coming  dawn.  So  absorbed  seemed  the 
sentry  in  something  at  the  front  that  not  until 
the  visitors  were  close  upon  him  did  he  note  and 
mutter  challenge.  No  "honors"  are  rendered  on 
the  outer  line  by  night  or  day.  Officer,  non 
commissioned  officer,  and  private  sentry  crouched 
together.  "Heard  anything — seen  anything?" 
whispered  Connelly. 

"Two  screech-owls  began  about  ten  minutes 
ago.  They  seemed  to  have  piped  up  very  sudden- 


174  NORMAN  HOLT 

ly,"  was  the  muttered  answer.  "And  twice  in 
ten  minutes  I  have  heard  hoof  beats  across  the 
stream,  but  one  can  see  nothing/' 

"Here's  coffee  and  hardtack  the  lieutenant 
brought  out  to  the  boys,"  murmured  Connelly. 
"Drink.  It'll  freshen  you  up."  And  eagerly  Holt 
received  the  big  tin  cup  at  his  hands,  as  Malloy 
had  passed  it,  and  took  a  long  deep  draught. 

There  is  nothing  that  so  clears  and  refreshes  on 
long  night  duty  as  "soldier  coffee"  when  properly 
made.  It  sent  a  grateful  glow  all  through  his 
tired  body  and  rendered  his  senses  again  keen  and 
alert. 

"I  think  the  officer  of  the  picket  should  hear 
these  sounds  for  himself,"  said  Holt,  as  he  listened 
again  with  straining  ear.  Since  the  night  on  the 
River  Queen  not  once  had  words  been  exchanged 
between  him  and  the  lieutenant  commanding. 
Holt  had  neither  forgotten  nor  forgiven  the  harsh 
ness  of  the  officer's  language,  nor  the  enmity 
which  he  well  knew  had  prompted  it  all.  But 
patience— patience  was  the  word !  One  false  step 
now  "would  place  him  in  Malloy's  power.  One 
bar  on  the  shoulder  strap  that  would  come  with 
his  commission  would  make  him  Malloy's  equal 
in  rank,  and  then  would  Malloy  be  made  to 
answer.  Meantime,  soldier  subordination  must 
never  be  forgotten  for  an  instant. 

And  as  they  crouched  there  listening  and  with 
beating  hearts,  again  the  weird  cry  of  the  screech- 
owl  arose  on  the  still  air.  Again  was  it  an 
swered  well  over  to  the  right,  and  from  some 
where  along  the  opposite  bank,  but  to  the  east 


ASLEEP  ON  POST  175 

of  the  bridge,  there  came  the  impatient  neigh  of 
a  horse.  Then  again  all  was  still.  Five,  ten 
minutes  they  waited,  and  not  a  sound  was  heard. 

"If  I  might  crawl  over  there,"  whispered  Con 
nelly,  "I  could  see  or  hear  better.  Whoever  they 
are  they  keep  away  from  the  front  of  this  foot 
bridge.  They  must  know-  it's  guarded." 

"I  was  thinking  of  that,"  answered  Malloy,  in 
muttered  tone.  Connelly  was  a  company  favor 
ite,  a  man  to  be  considered,  not  bluntly  ordered 
about.  "I  should  like  to  know  whether  they  are 
lining  up  in  those  woods  yonder,  just  as  they 
did  at  Shiloh,  when  they  jumped  into  the  Army  of 
the  Tennessee.  Do  you  think — could  you  crawl 
out  there  one  hundred  or  two  hundred  yards — 
maybe?" 

"Whatever  you  say,  sir,"  was  the  prompt  an 
swer  of  the  Irish  lad.  He  never  yet  had  shrunk 
at  a  "dare."  It  was  Holt  who  would  have 
opposed — Holt  who  strove  to  speak,  but  was 
silenced  by  the  instant  answer: 

"Then  try  it,  corporal.  It'll  be  a  feather  in  the 
Emmets'  cap  if  we  can  discover  and  balk  their 
move.  Keep  sharp  lookout,  sentry.  Be  ready  to 
back  him  if  he  needs  help.  I'll  slip  back  and 
bring  up  some  men." 

With  that  Malloy  backed  cautiously  toward 
the  shrubbery  behind  them,  while  Connelly, 
crouching  low,  stole  out  upon  the  narrow  foot 
bridge  and  was  speedily  lost  to  sight  in  the 
shadows  of  the  opposite  shore.  Norman  remained 
alone — Norman,  who  a  few  minutes  before  re 
joiced  in  the  new  life  and  energy  the  cofiee  had 


1T6  NORMAN  HOLT 

given  him—Norman,  who  now  found  it  ebbing, 
oozing  away,  and  some  strange  languorous  spell 
stealing  over  his  senses — Norman,  who  with  keen 
anxiety  and  disapprobation  had  heard  the  "words 
that  sent  his  gallant  comrade  upon  a  perilous — 
probably  a  useless — errand,  yet  who  found  himself 
powerless  to  remonstrate  or  to  act.  Malloy  had 
vanished.  Holt  was  utterly  alone — alone  with  the 
strange  stupor  that  dulled  the  flow  of  the  life- 
blood  in  his  veins,  numbed  his  nerves,  darkened 
his  sight,  deadened  his  hearing.  What  did  it 
mean?  What  could  it  mean?  He  rose  to  his  feet 
in  determined  effort  to  shake  off  the  deadly  drow 
siness  fast  overcoming  him.  He  stumbled  blindly 
down  the  dark  bank,  knelt  at  the  brink  and 
dashed  the  cool  water  over  head  and  face,  shook 
himself  vehemently,  kicked  out  with  one  leg,  then 
the  other,  thrashed  with  his  arms  in  air — all  to 
no  purpose.  He  remembered  he  had  left  his  rifle 
on  the  grassy  slope  by  the  bridge  abutment,  a 
dozen  feet  away  now.  He  must  not  quit  his 
rifle.  He  must  not  quit  his  post.  Yet  that  post 
— that  bridge  seemed  slowly  turning,  revolving 
about  some  hidden  axis ;  so  were  the  trees  beyond 
and  the  black  shadows  underneath;  so  was  the 
ground  under  his  feet,  and  he  was  growing  dizzy 
and  weak,  and  his  knees  seemed  bending  beneath 
him. 

This  wouldn't  do !  This  would  never  do !  Back 
to  the  abutment!  Back  to  the  bridge!  Back  to 
that  abandoned  rifle !  The  bank  was  steep  and  he 
stumbled,  and  it  seemed  to  fly  up,  violently  hit 
ting  hie  forehead.  It  did  not  sting  or  hurt.  That 


ASLEEP  ON  POST  17f 

was  strange.  It  was  hardly  felt.  All  his  senses 
were  dying.  He  must  have  help!  "Connelly! 
Connelly!"  he  feebly  cried,  but  the  sound  seemed 
stifled,  prolonged  to  a  low,  long,  moaning  appeal— 
an  hour  between  each  syllable.  Good  God !  Con 
nelly  was  away  out  at  the  front,  and  the  picket, 
Brennan  and  Darcy,  away  back  a  hundred  yards 
or  more  in  the  woods.  He  couldn't  make  them 
hear,  but  Malloy — Malloy  said  he  was  coming 
back  at  once  with  more  of  the  boys.  Thank 
God!  That  would  save  him.  That  would  make 
it — all  right.  They  would  lift  him  up.  He 
couldn't  lift  himself.  The  world  was  going  round 
and  round.  His  head  fell  again  on  the  blue- 
sleeved  arm,  his  senses  were  reeling.  On  the  bank 
above  voices,  low  but  intense,  and  hurrying  foot 
falls  smote  on  his  dulled  ears  like  the  muffled  beat 
of  the  big  bass  drum.  He  strove  to  say,  "Who 
goes  there?"  but  the  tongue  refused  its  office. 
Then  came  consciousness  that  rough  hands  laid 
hold,  dragged  him  up  the  slope,  strove  to  set 
him  on  his  feet  and  shook  him  almost  savagely, 
as  the  voice  of  Sergeant  Shannon  bade  him 
imploringly  to  say  he  wasn't  asleep.  Asleep- 
asleep  on  post!  Good  God,  no!  Asleep?  Never] 
"Asleep?"  he  pleaded  thickly.  "Asleep— you  know 
I  wasn't  asleep,  sergeant.  I  heard  you  coming, 
plainly." 

"Find  his  rifle,  some  of  you,"  came  in  cold, 
sarcastic,  merciless  tone,  from  the  lips  of  the 
officer  standing  dimly  outlined  on  the  bank. 
"Mr.  Scarcliffe,  Sergeant  Shannon — all  of  you,  in 
fact— you  are  witnesses  this  man  has  quit  his 
12 


178  NORMAN  HOLT 

rifle  and  was  found  tinder  the  bank— sleeping  on 
post." 

And  then,  far  out  to  the  south,  somewhere 
among  the  trees,  there  rang  a  sudden  cry.  "Help, 
boys!  Help,  quick!  This  way!"  Then  stunning 
blows,  a  stifled  groan.  Then— silence. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

COURT  MARTIAL 

A  general  court  martial  had  been  ordered  to 
meet  in  the  city  of  Nashville.  Certain  officers 
were  to  be  brought  before  it,  and  when  their 
cases  had  been  disposed  of  then  came  the  turn  of 
several  enlisted  men,  whose  offenses  were  of  so 
serious  a  character  that  they  could  not  be  properly 
tried  by  a  minor  military  tribunal.  It  was  mid- 
July  when  the  court  assembled.  It  was  mid- 
August  when  the  findings  in  the  cases  of  the 
commissioned  victims  were  decided  and  signed. 
The  weather  had  been  hot  and  sultry.  The  court 
was  tired  out  and  in  no  judicial  mind  by  the  time 
the  first  of  the  soldier  cases  was  reached.  Men 
grow  crabbed  who  have  to  sit  day  after  day 
through  the  hottest  hours,  buttoned  up  to  the 
chin  in  those  absurd  blue  frock-coats,  and  sashed 
and  belted  when  nature  and  common  sense  both 
clamor  for  air  and  freedom. 

It  was  hard  for  the  court,  but  it  was  harder 
on  the  prisoners  awaiting  trial,  for  they  had  to 
swelter  in  a  wooden  bake-oven  of  a  guardhouse, 
tormented  day  and  night  by  heat,  mosquitoes, 
and  anxiety.  Innocent  or  guilty,  it  made  no 
difference.  The  privilege  of  being  cleared  by  the 
court  involved  weeks  or  even  months  of  prelimi 
nary  durance  vile.  The  presumption  of  innocence 


180  NORMAN  HOLtf 

until  declared  guilty  accorded  the  civilian  carries 
no  comfort  to  the  soldier  of  Uncle  Sam.  Bail  is 
something  he  -wots  not  of.  The  sovereign  citizen 
who  has  clubbed  his  wife,  mobbed  the  sheriff,  or 
robbed  a  bank,  and  can  induce  a  friend  to  go  bail  for 
him— and  who  cannot  ?— breathes  the  air  of  freedom 
until  summoned  for  trial.  The  soldier,  perhaps 
falsely  accused  of  some  minor  neglect,  must  roast 
with  the  felons  under  guard  until  his  case  is  called. 
He  has  no  rights  the  nation  seems  bound  to  respect. 

And  of  such  as  these,  all  through  the  blazing 
July  weather,  and  into  the  earlier  -weeks  of  the 
dog-days,  was  Norman  Holt,  private,  Company 
"C,"  — th  Ohio  infantry  volunteers,  under  charge 
of  one  of  the  gravest  crimes  known  to  the  mili 
tary  calendar,  "sentinel  sleeping  on  post  in  front 
of  the  enemy." 

They  had  sent  him  to  Nashville  the  second  week 
in  July.  The  colonel  had  investigated  as  thor 
oughly  as  was  possible  the  case  against  him,  and, 
with  secret  reluctance,  had  been  forced  to  the 
belief  that  there  was  nothing  to  hope  for.  The 
evidence  seemed  conclusive.  He  was  a  member  of 
a  picket  guard  duly  mounted.  He  had  been  regu 
larly  posted  as  sentry  in  front  of  the  picket  cover 
ing  the  foot-bridge  over  the  stream.  He  had 
reported  suspicious  noises  indicating  movements 
of  the  enemy  in  his  front,  and  yet,  notwithstand 
ing  his  knowledge  of  this  dangerous  condition  of 
things,  had  quit  his  rifle  and  his  assigned  post 
and  gone  down  under  the  bank,  and  was  found 
lying  on  the  grass,  to  all  appearances  sound 
asleep  and  unconscious. 


COURT  MARTIAL  1«1 

The  officer  of  the  guard,  Lieutenant  Malloy, 
declared  that,  going  to  the  bridge  with  a  small 
patrol,  he  had  halted  his  party  in  the  shadows 
of  the  trees,  while  he  crept  forward  to  recon 
noitre.  He  was  surprised  and  troubled  to  find  no 
sentry  at  the  bridge.  There  was  his  rifle,  but  the 
man  was  gone.  In  a  low  tone  he  called,  but  there 
was  no  reply.  Alarmed,  he  brought  up  his  party 
and  bade  them  search.  Private  Darcy  found  the 
accused  several  yards  away  from  where  the  rifle 
rested  against  the  rail,  lying  under  the  bank,  or 
perhaps  on  the  slope  of  the  bank,  apparently 
sound  asleep.  Lieutenant  Scarcliffe,  Sergeant 
Shannon,  Privates  Brennan,  Colt,  and  Kelly,  all 
of  whom  were  good  friends  of  the  accused,  were 
witnesses  to  the  fact,  although  it  could  be  said 
that  when  they  reached  the  spot  Holt  was  sitting 
up  and  looking  about  him  in  a  dazed,  bewildered 
way,  and  Lieutenant  Malloy  opined  that  Darcy 
had  endeavored  to  rouse  him  and  save  him  from 
deserved  punishment;  but,  as  it  happened,  the 
lieutenant  was  close  at  Darcy's  heel,  and  saw 
Holt's  recumbent  form  before  Darcy  had  time  by 
pinching  or  shoving  to  -warn  him  of  the  officer's 
presence.  Then,  such  was  Malloy's  sense  of  duty, 
that  he  felt  compelled  to  make  an  example  of  a 
soldier  who  could  be  so  reckless  of  a  sacred  charge 
and  responsibility.  Darcy,  to  the  colonel,  would 
admit  neither  pinch  nor  shove,  though  he  uaxed 
him  was  he  sick."  Private  Brennan  begged  the 
colonel  to  remember  that  Holt  was  doing  double 
duty,  having  taken  his,  Brennan' s,  turn  before 
entering  upon  his  own,  and  Brennan  was  over- 


182  NORMAN  HOLT 

whelmed  with  misery  at  the  thought  of  what  the 
generous  effort  had  cost  his  tent-mate.  Shannon 
was  an  unwilling  witness.  He  didn't  wish  to  "go 
back  on"  the  lieutenant.  Shannon  had  served  in 
the  Mexican  war,  and  was  believed  to  be  a  "regu 
lar"  without  a  regular  discharge,  but  the  colonel 
drew  from  him  the  admission  that  the  lieutenant 
was  "excited  like"  when  he  came  back  to  the 
picket,  and  had  sent  for  Lieutenant  Scarcliffe  and 
bade  Darcy  and  Brennan,  as  well  as  his  escort, 
Shannon,  Colt,  and  Kelly,  who  had  come  forward 
with  him  from  the  supports,  to  follow  swiftly, 
"  'There's  something  wrong  at  the  bridge,'  says 
he,  'and  I  can't  make  out  what's  wrong  with 
Connelly  and  Holt.'  "  They  hadn't  been  at  the 
bridge  a  minute  before  they  found  Holt,  or  much 
more  than  a  minute  when  the  corporal's  cries 
were  heard.  Shannon  begged  permission  to  go 
over  with  the  two  men,  if  the  lieutenant  wouldn't 
go,  and  try  to  rescue  their  comrade,  but  Malloy 
sternly  forbade.  It  was  bad  enough  to  lose  one 
good  man,  said  he.  "You'll  all  be  needed.  Con 
nelly  knew  he  had  no  business  to  cross  the  creek. 
He  shouldn't  have  gone!" 

Then,  soon  after  four,  had  come  the  brisk  sharp 
attack  of  dismounted  cavalry  all  along  the  left 
front.  Malloy's  pickets  were  driven  in  on  the 
reserves,  but  there  came  a  sturdy  stand.  The 
visitors  who  had  been  "feeling  the  line"  fell  back 
through  the  leafy  woods,  and  that  was  the  last 
of  Connelly.  No  man  could  say  what  had  been 
his  fate,  but  one  man  said,  whatever  it  was,  he 
had  brought  it  on  himself,  and  this  statement 


COURT  MARTIAL.  183 

came  to  the  ears  of  Norman  Holt,  well-nigh 
overwhelmed  with  the  magnitude  of  his  own  new- 
trouble,  but,  even  in  his  sore  estate,  mindful  of 
the  rights  and  honor  of  a  friend  and  comrade. 
To  his  sympathetic  guards  he  protested  that  Con 
nelly  had  gone  in  compliance  with  Malloy's  ex 
press  instructions,  if  not  positive  orders,  and 
some  of  the  men  found  means  to  tell  this  to  their 
furious  old  captain—- who  was  almost  delirious 
with  mingled  fever  of  his  own  and  fear  for  Nor 
man's  sake — and  Gaffney  told  such  officers  as  came 
to  see  him,  and  they  told  the  colonel,  and  the 
colonel  sent  for  Holt  and  demanded  to  know 
what  the  story  meant. 

"It  means  exactly  what  I  said,  sir.  I  heard 
Mr.  Malloy  say:  'Then  try  it,  Connelly.  It  will 
be  a  feather  in  Company  "C's"  cap,'  and  it  was 
said  in  answer  to  a  suggestion  of  the  corporal's 
that  he  could  steal  across  and  hear  what  was 
going  on." 

But  against  an  officer's  denial  what  avails 
the  story  of  an  accused  and  desperate  man — a 
man  who,  barely  ten  minutes  after  the  departure 
of  Connelly,  was  found  away  from  his  assigned 
post,  his  arms,  his  duty,  and  sleeping  stupidly 
under  the  bank?  To  his  colonel  Holt  had  de 
clared  he  was  not  asleep,  but  fighting  desperately 
against  it.  He  declared  that  he  had  been  over 
come  by  some  strange,  powerful  stupor.  He  never 
before  had  had  such  a  seizure.  He  could  almost 
believe  he  had  been  drugged,  yet  he  had  had 
nothing  to  eat  or  drink  except  the  hardtack  and 
coffee  shared  liberally  by  a  dozen  men,  not  one  of 


184  NORMAN  HOLT. 

whom  had  experienced  any  such  sensation.  The 
story  did  not  help  Norman.  It  seemed  as  though 
he  were  past  help.  Ten  days  he  was  held  under 
guard  at  the  front,  then  sent  by  order  to  Nash 
ville,  where  he  seemed  to  have  not  a  friend  in  the 
garrison  until  there  came  a  day  that  brought 
Bob  Enyart,  captain  and  assistant  inspector- 
general,  back  from  the  front,  where,  as  luck 
would  have  it,  he  had  met  poor,  bewildered  old 
Gaffiaey,  heard  his  story,  then  that  of  the 
colonel,  whom  he  knew  by  reputation  only,  and 
the  first  thing  he  did  on  reaching  Nashville  was 
to  ask  where  Holt  was  to  be  found,  and  then  to 
go  and  find  him. 

Eleven  strong  sat  the  court  on  the  momentous 
morning  when  the  case  of  Norman  Holt  was 
called,  authorized  to  proceed  with  the  business 
before  them,  even  though  reduced  below  the 
original  thirteen.  Eleven  red-faced,  red-sashed, 
blue-coated  men,  and  one  pallid,  nerve-racked 
captain  in  a  flannel  sack,  the  judge-advocate  of 
the  court,  assembled  for  duty,  and  the  latter 
looked  dubiously  on  the  prisoner  as  he  quietly 
took  his  seat  and  a  calm  survey  of  his  judges. 
In  the  exercise  of  his  prerogative  as  legal  adviser 
of  the  accused,  as  well  as  his  prosecutor,  and 
with  laudable  intent  to  expedite  the  action  of  the 
court,  Captain  Purdy  had  talked  seriously  for  an 
hour  with  the  young  Kentuckian,  had  urged  him 
to  plead  guilty,  make  a  statement  setting  forth 
the  exhausting  nature  of  the  duties  he  had  been 
called  upon  to  perform  for  several  days  prior  to 
his  offense;  to  call  on  his  captain,  or  anybody 


COURT  MAKTIAJ*  1§6 

else  lie  could  think  of,  for  testimony  as  to  char 
acter,  and  then  throw  himself  on  the  mercy  of  the 
court.  "It's  the  best  you  can  do,"  said  he.  "The 
evidence  of  the  officers  of  the  guard,  Sergeant 
Shannon,  and  others  is  bound  to  convict  you, 
and  a  court  is  always  more  apt  to  be  hard  on 
fellows  who  sulk  than  those  who  come  out  like 
men  and  frankly  admit  their  guilt."  And,  to  his 
manifest  disappointment,  if  not  chagrin,  the  ac 
cused  had  very  respectfully,  but  positively,  de 
clined. 

"I  was  not  asleep,"  said  he.  "I  was  conscious 
of  what  was  going  on  around  me.  I  was  on  the 
verge  of  a  swoon,  perhaps,  but  I  am  not  guilty 
of  the  charge  and  I  will  not  plead  guilty." 

Purdy  had  communicated  the  decision  of  the 
accused  to  the  court,  and  that  august  body 
shrugged  its  shoulders,  while  the  president,  a 
colonel  of  volunteers,  with  long  service  in  the 
regulars,  ominously  said,  "All  right,"  but  was 
manifestly  disturbed,  on  looking  up  from  the 
newspaper  he  had  been  reading,  to  see  among 
the  gathering  spectators  Captain  Bob  Enyart  of 
the  headquarters  staff,  a  West  Pointer  and  a 
man  of  mark  and  influence.  "What's  he  doing 
here?"  asked  the  president  of  Purdy. 

"Says  he's  interested  in  this  case  of  Holt's," 
answered  the  judge-advocate.  "Arcades  ambo, 
I  suppose,  which  means  both  Blue  Grassers— - 
Kentucky  cousins." 

The  colonel  frowned.  It  never  pleases  a  court 
to  feel  that  it  is  under  supervision.  Headquarters 
might  have  to  pass  upon  its  finding  and  sentence. 


186  NORMAN  HOLT. 

If  so,  it  was  obviously  indelicate  in  headquarters 
to  have  its  representative  present  during  the  trial 
itself.  Several  other  officers  had  entered  and  taken 
seats,  but  of  them  the  president  took  no  account. 
A  dozen  soldiers  were  grouped  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  long,  bare  room.  The  guard  yawned 
in  the  corridor  without.  The  witnesses  waited 
and  wilted  in  an  adjoining  room — save  Malloy, 
who,  with  nervous  step  paced  up  and  down  the 
hall.  It  is  a  grewsome  thing  to  swear  away  a 
man's  life,  but  had  he  not  practically  so  sworn 
already?  Could  he  now  recede  from  his  original 
reports  and  statements?  Would  he  if  he  could? 
The  judge-advocate  had  purposely  sent  his  wit 
nesses  for  the  prosecution  out  of  the  prisoner's 
sight  as  silently,  passively,  sadly,  Norman  climbed 
the  stairs  from  the  hot  sunshine  of  the  outer 
street.  The  only  hope,  help,  or  consolation  that 
had  come  to  him  since  they  sent  him  back  from 
camp,  and  out  of  range  of  sympathetic  Emmets, 
was  brought  to  him  by  Eny art's  brief  visit,  and 
his  soul  had  been  faint  and  weary  within  him. 
But  Eny  art's  vehement,  urgent  words  had  sound 
ed  the  call  to  battle  again.  The  spirit  of  fight 
still  lived.  He  could  not  die  without  brave  defense 
of  his  own  good  name  and  bitter  blows  at  them 
who  would  destroy  it. 

"You  still  adhere  to  your  decision?"  asked  Pur- 
dy,  as  he  signaled  Holt  to  draw  his  chair  closer 
to  the  table.  A  grave  bow  was  the  only  answer, 
and  with  a  nod  to  the  president,  the  judge-advo 
cate  arose,  and  in  perfunctory  fashion  rapidly 
read  off  the  order  convening  the  court ;  and  with- 


COURT  MARTIAL  187 

out  the  faintest  alteration  of  tone  or  manner, 
but  as  though  the  formula  were  printed  at  the 
bottom  of  the  page,  turned  on  the  prisoner  with 
the  stereotyped  query,  "You  have  heard  the  order 
convening  the  court.  Do  you  object  to  being 
tried  by  any  member  named  therein?  You  do  not, 
and  the  court  will  now  be  sworn." 

There  was  a  rasp  and  rattle  of  chairs,  a  clatter 
of  swords,  a  laying  aside,  temporarily,  at  least,  of 
newspapers,  a  slow  finding  of  their  feet  on  part 
of  eleven  overclad,  superheated  men,  an  uplifting 
of  bared  right  hands,  and  then  in  the  same  dreary 
monotone  the  judge-advocate  reeled  off  the  words 
of  the  same  old  oath  binding  "you  and  each  of 
you  to  well  and  truly  try  and  determine  the 
matter  now  before  you  between  the  United  States 
of  America  and  the  prisoner  to  be  tried,  and  to 
duly  administer  justice  according  to  the  provisions 
of  an  act  establishing  rules  and  articles  for  the 
government  of  the  armies  of  the  United  States 
without  partiality,  favor,  or  affection,  and  if  any 
doubt  should  arise  not  explained  by  said  articles, 
then  according  to  your  conscience,  the  best  of 
your  understanding  and  the  custom  of  war  in 
like  cases.  And  you  do  further  swear  that  you 
will  not  disclose  the  sentence  of  the  court  until 
it  shall  be  published  by  the  proper  authority, 
neither  will  you  disclose  or  discover  the  vote 
or  opinion  of  any  particular  member  of  the  court 
martial  unless  required  to  give  evidence  thereof  as 
a  witness  before  a  court  of  justice  in  a  due  course 
of  law,  so  help  you  God"— and  passed  the  book 
up  the  table  to  the  president,  who  in  turn  cleared 


MS  NORMAN  HOLT 

Ms  throat  and  swore  the  judge-advocate  to  equal 
secrecy. 

Whereupon  the  court  flopped  back  to  its  seats 
and  seized  palmleaf  fans,  while  Purdy  fumbled  for 
a  copy  of  the  charges  and  specifications,  read 
them  aloud  in  the  same  sing-song  manner,  wind 
ing  up  with,  "How  say  you  to  the  specification, 
guilty  or  not  guilty ?" 

"Not  guilty, "  was  the  quiet  reply. 

"And  to  the  charge?" 

"Also  not  guilty." 

"Be  seated.  Call  Lieutenant  Malloy."  And  the 
court  looked  up  and  so  did  the  crowd  as  the  first 
and  chief  witness  for  the  prosecution,  in  new, 
trim-fitting  uniform,  with  spotless  gloves  and 
shining  sword,  entered,  saluted,  uncovered  his 
shapely  head  and  ungloved  and  raised  his  slender 
white  hand  as  the  judge-advocate  faced  him  and, 
emotionless,  monotonous,  perfunctory  as  ever, 
said:  "You  swear  the  evidence  you  shall  give 
in  the  case  now  in  hearing  shall  be  the  truth, 
the  whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth,  so 
help  you  God?" 

At  which  point  the  prisoner  lifted  his  head  and 
looked  straight  into  the  pale  face  of  his  superior 
officer,  the  lieutenant  lately  commanding  Company 
"C,"  who  said,  briefly,  "I  do,"  and,  arranging  his 
sash  tassels  and  coat  skirts  and  avoiding  the 
prisoner's  eyes,  sank  into  a  chair  on  the  opposite 
side  at  the  foot  of  the  table ;  answered  in  low, 
controlled  voice  the  usual  questions  as  to  his 
name  anc  rank,  his  knowledge  of  the  identity  of 
tibe  accused  and  the  nature  of  the  duties  which 


COURT  MARTIAL  189 

he  had  been  performing.  But  before  he  had  fairly 
begun  his  narrative  of  the  events  leading  to  the 
arrest  of  the  accused  there  came  interruption. 
A  cavalry  orderly  appeared  at  the  door  with  a 
note  in  his  hand.  At  a  nod  from  the  presiding 
officer  he  clicked  into  the  room,  his  saber  clanking, 
and  handed  the  note  to  the  colonel,  who  glanced 
at  the  superscription,  frowned,  pointed  to  Captain 
Enyart,  seated  where  he  could  watch  Malloy's 
face,  and  motioned  the  orderly  to  take  the  note 
to  him.  Enyart  received  it  with  surprise,  read  it 
with  a  start,  and  without  a  word  and  only  a 
quick  glance  at  Norman  left  the  room.  In  three 
minutes  he  was  back,  alert  and  attentive  as  ever, 
and  Malloy,  who  had  begun  his  story  with  some 
thing  like  confidence,  changed  color,  and  spoke 
lower.  It  differed  in  no  essential  particular  from 
that  already  referred  to,  but  was  long  in  the 
telling,  as  the  judge-advocate  was  compelled,  such 
being  the  military  fashion  of  the  day,  laboriously 
to  write  out  every  word.  To  the  entire  narrative 
the  prisoner  listened  with  close  attention,  and 
with  hardly  a  change  in  expression,  his  eyes  ever 
on  Malloy's  pallid  face.  When  the  witness  had 
finished,  the  judge-advocate  pondered  a  moment, 
wrote  rapidly,  and  then  read  a  question  to  bring 
forth  the  evidence  that  the  accused  had  been  duly 
warned  and  mounted  for  picket  duty  and  regu 
larly  posted  as  sentry.  Malloy  was  sure  as  to 
the  first  and  ignorant  as  to  the  second.  That 
was  the  business  of  the  sergeant  or  corporal. 
The  judge-advocate,  in  the  same  methodical, 
toilsome  way,  gradually  elicited  other  points  that 


190  NORMAN  HOLT 

were  of  value— that  Malloy  had  inspected  the 
sentries,  had  found  the  accused  apparently  well 
and  vigilant  earlier  in  the  night ;  that  sounds  had 
been  heard  across  the  stream,  indicating  the  pres 
ence  of  the  enemy  in  the  immediate  front ;  that 
an  attack  in  considerable  force  actually  took 
place  soon  after  four  o'clock  while  he  was  at  the 
rear,  escorting  the  prisoner  to  the  custody  of  the 
guard.  Previous  experiences  with  the  prisoner, 
he  said,  had  given  him  grave  reasons  to  doubt 
his  loyalty. 

And  here  came  interruption.  Captain  Enyart, 
though  only  a  spectator,  fairly  sprang  from  his 
seat,  so  suddenly  did  he  rise,  and  members  of  the 
court  could  not  but  see  that  he  was  striving  to 
attract  the  attention  of  the  accused,  who  sat 
motionless  and  with  his  dark  eyes  still  fixed  upon 
the  face  of  the  witness.  Two  of  the  younger 
members  as  suddenly  glanced  at  the  judge-advo 
cate,  'who  continued  calmly  writing.  Another,  a 
major  of  cavalry,  seeing  the  excitement  in  En- 
yart's  manner,  and  cudgeling  his  brain  for  the 
cause,  bethought  him  of  something  he  had  heard 
or  read  as  to  irrelevant  matter,  and  turned  to  the 
president. 

"Has  this  accused  any  counsel—anybody  to  act 
as  amicus  curias,  may  I  ask?"  he  queried,  im 
pressively. 

"How  is  that,  Mr.  Judge- Advocate?"  demanded 
the  head  of  the  table. 

"I  have  myself  advised  him  to  the  best  of  my 
ability,"  said  Captain  Purdy,  flushing.  "But  if 
any  member  of  the  court—" 


COURT  MARTIAL  191 

"Members  of  the  court  have  been  sworn  to  try, 
not  to  counsel,"  interposed  the  major  severely. 
"But  I  object  to  the  introduction  of  irrelevant 
matter,  despite  the  judge-advocate's  apparent 
approval."  He  glanced  at  Enyart,  now  slowly 
settling  back  into  his  seat  as  though  all  approval 
and  support,  and  added  immediately :  "I  request 
that  the  court  be  cleared." 

Cleared  it  was  of  spectators,  witnesses,  and  the 
person  most  vitally  interested,  but,  in  accordance 
with  the  unenlightened  practice  of  the  day,  the 
judge-advocate  remained.  In  the  star  chamber 
discussion  that  ensued,  the  prosecution  was  al 
lowed  to  be  represented  in  full  force.  The  defense 
was— defenseless.  Out  in  the  hallway  guards, 
spectators,  witnesses,  and  prisoner  waited  twenty 
minutes  to  hear  the  result,  but  Enyart  seized  the 
opportunity  for  a  few  whispered  words  with 
Holt.  Something  he  told  him  made  the  young 
soldier's  dark  eyes  light,  his  wan  face  flush  with 
sudden  amaze  and  joy.  Narrowly,  suspiciously, 
yet  furtively  watching  them  from  across  the 
corridor,  Lieutenant  Malloy  felt  a  chill  of  fore 
boding.  It  was  one  thing  to  checkmate  the 
clumsy  efforts  of  a  helpless  veteran  like  Gaffhey. 
It  might  be  a  very  different  thing  to  measure  wits 
with  this  young  regular — independent,  influen 
tial,  fearless — and  something  told  Malloy  the  time 
was  coming.  It  spurred  him  to  renewed,  to  even 
reckless  effort.  The  door  was  again  thrown  open. 
Court,  witnesses,  accused,  and  spectators  reap 
peared  as  before,  and  with  tones  not  altogether 
placid  the  judge-advocate  announced  that  the 


193  NORMAN  HOLT 

objection  of  the  member  had  not  been  sustained 
— the  testimony  -would  be  recorded  as  given. 
1  'But,"  said  he,  "if  the  prisoner  does  not  fully 
understand,  as  I  strove  to  make  him,  that  he  is 
entitled  to  counsel,  I  again  repeat  it." 

And  Norman,  rising,  said  respectfully  that  he 
preferred  to  rest  his  case  with  the  honor  of  the 
court,  whereat  the  president  was  reminded  that 
it  was  time  for  luncheon,  and  so  ordered.  The 
court  stood  adjourned  until  1.30  p.  m.  It  was 
nearer  two  when  proceedings  -were  resumed,  how 
ever,  for  the  principal  witness,  Lieutenant  Malloy, 
had  to  be  sent  for.  The  orderly  reported  that 
the  lieutenant  had  some  kind  of  stroke.  Heat, 
probably,  said  the  court.  The  sentry  on  duty  at 
the  hall  below  said  that  the  lieutenant  had  come 
rushing  down  stairs  "lookin*  sick"  about  1.30, 
and  had  gone  to  the  adjoining  drug  store,  -where 
the  proprietor  informed  a  presumably  sympathetic 
captain  of  the  staff  who  followed  shortly  that 
the  officer  had  asked  for  brandy  and  hurried  out 
at  once.  Something  had  occurred  to  upset  Lieu 
tenant  Malloy,  but  the  court  knew  not  what. 
Certain  spectators  might  have  thrown  light  upon 
the  matter  had  the  court  inquired.  Just  before 
1.30,  as  Mr.  Malloy  reached  the  top  of  the  stairs, 
he  became  suddenly  aware  of  two  ladies  standing 
in  the  corridor  and  in  conversation  with  the 
prisoner,  the  guards  making  no  objection,  and 
Captain  Enyart  standing  by,  apparently  approv 
ing.  One  was  gray-haired  and  motherly,  the  other 
young,  tall,  with  graceful,  spirited  bearing  and 
a  proud,  winsome  face.  Without  so  much  as  a 


COURT  MARTIAL  *8f 

gleam  of  recognition  in  her  bright,  searching  eyes, 
this  latter  looked  squarely  into  the  face  of  the 
arriving  officer,  who  took  off  his  cap,  bowed,  half 
thought  to  smile,  but  stood  one  instant  con- 
founded  at  the  open,  obvious,  palpable  "cut"; 
then,  as  though  in  confusion,  if  not  panic,  turned 
and  fled  back  the  way  he  came. 

"Miss  Ray,"  said  Enyart,  "you  have  demorak 
ized  the  case  for  the  prosecution." 

"God  be  thanked  if  I  have,"  was  the  pious  reply, 
18 


CHAPTER  XY 

THE  DEATH  SENTENCE 

A  gleam  of  light  in  the  midst  of  his  darkness 
of  despond  had  come  to  Norman  Holt  at  last, 
but  it  was  all  too  brief.    Two  days  only  did  he 
see  Kate  Ray  and  her  gentle  mother.    One  long 
talk  only,  and  that  in  the  presence  of  the  officer 
of  the  guard,  was  he  permitted  with  these  old 
and  dear  friends.    Even  though  by  this  time  it 
was  known  that  the  Rays  of  Lexington  had  held 
fast  to  the  cause  of  the  Union,  there  were  stories 
afloat,  and  stories  believed,  that  the  heart  of  the 
proud  Kentucky  girl  was  pledged  to  a  gallant 
soldier  in   the   Southern   army,    and  that  there 
was   frequent   correspondence   maintained,    who 
could  say  how?    Everybody  seemed  to  know  that 
Henry  Holt  had  been  her  devoted  admirer.  Every 
body  seemed  to  take  it  for  granted  that  the  affair 
was  settled—everybody,  that  is,  except  a  possible 
few  with  hopes  of  their  own.    Everybody  seemed 
to   have   heard   that   since   his   escape  from  the 
guards,  his  rescue  by  Morgan's  cavalry,  Henry 
Holt  had  been  seen  at  the  old  homestead,  and, 
furthermore,  had  been  "looked  for"  about  Lexing 
ton,    There  were  not  lacking  stern-hearted  gen 
erals  in  the  Union  army  to  hold  that  the  Rays 
knew  too  much  of  our  force,  and  the  disposition 


THE  DEATH  SENTENCE  1*5 

thereof,  and  who  objected  to  their  being  allowed 
to  wander  at  will  within  our  lines.  The  state 
ment  that  they  had  come  to  Nashville  solely  to 
cheer  and  comfort  Norman  Holt  only  strengthened 
the  belief  in  Kate's  engagement  to  his  elder 
brother,  and  augmented  the  vague  feeling,  that 
had  so  unaccountably  lingered,  that  Norman 
Holt,  at  heart,  at  least,  was  disloyal. 

Just  one  long  talk  had  been  permitted  them, 
a  talk  in  which  she  told  him  that  she  had  indeed 
written  a  long  letter,  mainly  about  home  matters, 
but  incidentally  much  that  she  believed  about 
Daisy  Lane  and  more  about  Mr.  Malloy.  It  was 
her  belief  that  the  parents  were  striving  to  induce 
Daisy  to  accept  that  young  man,  and  that  Daisy 
was  valiantly  standing  out  against  them.  It 
was  her  belief  that  the  Mallojs,  father  and  son, 
were  obtaining  the  same  influence  over  Mr.  Lane 
that  the  Senator  had  exercised  over  Judge  Mc- 
Intyre,  and  she  deplored  it  more  than  she  could 
tell.  Had  Norman  no  suspicion  as  to  the  fate  of 
her  letter?  Norman  had;  but  no  proof,  whatso 
ever.  The  man  to  whom  it  had  been  intrusted 
had  long  since  been  sent  to  hospital  with  fever, 
and  was  now  a  deserter  from  the  army  and  could 
not  be  found.  She  told  him  of  Belleview— that  it 
was  still  safe,  still  cared  for  by  the  overseer  and 
his  family,  and  surrounded  by  many  of  the  old 
colony  of  blacks,  though  how  they  lived,  and 
apparently  throve,  was  a  mystery.  The  doctor 
had  at  last  accounts  been  visiting  his  sister,  but 
he  remained  with  her  only  a  few  days.  Henry 
(and  here,  though  Kate's  clear  eyes  fell  not,  and 


196  NORMAN  HOLT 

she  looked  Norman  full  in  the  face,  the  color 
deepened  in  her  cheeks  at  the  mention  of  the 
name)— Henry  was  well  and  on  duty  with  General 
Bragg  and  counted  on  seeing  Kentucky  again  in 
the  near  future,  a  very  significant  piece  of  infor 
mation,  perhaps,  for  a  loyal  girl  to  possess,  yet 
it  was  the  open  boast,  as  it  was  the  lively  hope, 
of  the  whole  South  that  the  battle  flags  would 
be  flaunting  along  the  Ohio  before  the  world  was 
much  more  than  a  month  older.  And  Kate  de 
clared  to  Norman  among  other  things  that  she 
knew  Henry  in  no  way  accused  him  save  for  hav 
ing  sided  with  the  North,  as  he  expressed  it, 
against  the  South.  It  was  a  favorite  sophistry 
to  ignore  the  Union  in  the  matter,  and  to  hold  that 
it  was  only  section  against  section,  not  the  Union 
struggling  for  life.  But  when  Norman  asked  the 
question,  "How  about  father?"  she  faltered.  She 
could  not  reply,  because  she  knew  the  fiery  old 
physician  had  heard  it  all,  had  heard  of  Henry's 
capture  by  Sheridan's  troopers,  guided,  brother 
against  brother,  by  the  younger  son,  and  that 
the  father's  wrath  was  beyond  description.  Trust 
a  woman  to  divert  a  man  from  a  perilous  topic ! 
She  had  saved  the  next  bit  for  just  sur.h  an  emer 
gency. 

"Only  four  days  ago,  Norman,  I  saw  Daisy," 
said  she.  "I  spent  nearly  two  hours  with  her 
at  the  old  house  in  Fourth  Street.  But  Mrs.  Lane 
never  left  us."  Norman  had  glanced  up  quickly 
at  the  first  announcement.  His  eyes  again  fell  at 
the  last.  He  knew  what  she  would  say.  There 
bad  been  no  opportunity  for  confidences.  The 


THE  DEATH  SENTENCE  197 

Lanes  had  heard  with  real  sorrow,  said  she,  of 
this  new  trouble  that  had  come  upon  him,  but 
were  confident,  at  least  Mrs.  Lane  so  expressed 
herself,  that  he  would  come  through  "with  flying 
colors."  Daisy,  speaking  of  color,  had  little  or 
none.  Daisy  looked  white  and  wan.  Her  mother 
said  it  was  the  heat.  They  had  been  accustomed 
to  go  to  the  country  for  the  summer,  but  this  year 
they  felt  they  could  not  leave  Cincinnati.  Mr. 
Lane  was  on  duty  in  front  of  Washington  with 
McDowell's  Corps,  and  they  were  very  anxious, 
for  "Stonewall"  Jackson  was  nearing  the  Rapi- 
dan.  McClellan  was  hurrying  out  of  the  Penin 
sula.  The  army  didn't  like  or  trust  the  new 
General  from  the  West,  and  things  were  at  sixes 
and  sevens.  Mr.  Lane  wrote  that  he  was  fearful 
that  big  battles  would  be  fought  around  Wash 
ington,  and  that  the  South  would  make  a  dash 
on  Cincinnati.  "Mrs.  Lane  talked  all  the  time," 
said  Kate.  It  -was  Mr.  Lane  said  this,  or  Mr. 
Lane  wrote  that,  and  Mr.  Lane  thought  all  man 
ner  of  things,  and  it  was  evident  to  the  clear 
sighted  girl  that  Mrs.  Lane  was  nervous,  anxious, 
and  ill  at  ease ;  that  her  incessant  chatter  was  to 
prevent  questioning  of  either  Daisy  or  herself;  and 
so,  although  Kate  had  stayed  and  lunched  with 
them,  she  came  away  with  as  little  knowledge  of 
their  real  sentiments  toward  Norman  as  when 
she  entered  the  house.  Neither  had  she  oppor 
tunity  to  refer  to  Mr.  Malloy,  and  to  what  she 
considered  his  persecution  of  Norman. 

But  there  had  been  one  significant  episode  to 
which  she  made  no  allusion  whatever.    She  did 


196  NORMAN  HOLT 

not  wish  Norman  to  know  that,  as  she  left  the 
house,  followed  to  the  door  wistfully  by  Daisy, 
volubly  by  her  mother,  there  on  the  steps,  as 
though  just  about  to  enter,  stood  a  portly,  pros 
perous  looking,  somewhat  overdressed  man  of 
fifty  years  or  more,  whom  Mrs.  Lane  at  once 
addressed  as  ' 'Senator,"  and  -whom  Miss  Ray 
knew  at  once  as  the  senior  Malloy.  As  she 
glanced  back  over  her  shoulder  she  saw  one  pit 
eous  look  in  Daisy's  white  face  and  it  haunted 
her  all  the  way  to  Nashville.  Thither  had  they 
journeyed  under  escort  of  Major  Marshall,  a  near 
neighbor  and  old  friend.  There  they  had  com 
municated  at  once  with  Enyart,  and  presented 
their  letter  to  the  commanding  General,  who 
received  it  and  them  dubiously,  and  within  forty- 
eight  hours  of  their  arrival  Enyart  received  orders 
to  the  front,  Marshall  to  the  rear,  and  the  ladies 
were  politely  told  that  Major  Marshall  would 
escort  them  back  to  Louisville,  where  ruled  a 
new  General  commanding  the  department,  a 
patriot  who  knew  not  Kentuckians  and  feared 
them,  even  gift-bearing  and  professing  loyalty. 
Kate  Ray  was  wrathful,  indeed,  rebellious,  but 
her  gentle  mother  curbed  the  rising  indignation 
and  ready  tongue.  It  was  "Bob"  Enyart  who 
most  felt  and  could  least  resent  the  General's  act. 
"Be  of  good  cheer,  Holt,  my  boy,"  he  had  said 
to  the  prisoner,  as  he  shook  his  hand.  "Even  if 
they  have  to  find  in  accordance  with  that  one 
sided  evidence,  they'll  be  sure  to  recommend,  and 
when  the  case  comes  up  for  review  you'll  be  all 
right." 


THE  DEATH  SENTENCE  199 

"Be  of  good  cheer,  Norman,"  murmured  Kate, 
with  brimming  eyes,  as  she  clasped  both  his 
hands  in  hers.  "Somebody's  been  at  work  telling 
tales  at  our  expense,  as  they  have  at  yours,  but 
once  back  in  Kentucky  we  can  watch  over  your 
interests,  and  we  will." 

Be  of  good  cheer,  indeed!  One  or  two  junior 
members  of  the  court,  in  the  course  of  the  long, 
long  trial  that  followed,  strove  to  cross-question 
and  to  extract  evidence  that  might  tend  to  shake 
the  strong  testimony  accumulating  hour  by  hour 
against  him,  but,  just  as  before,  when  Captain 
Wing  could  have  cleared  him  of  the  charge  of 
treachery  at  Belleview,  so,  now,  the  one  man 
whose  evidence  might  save  him  was  either  dead 
or  a  prisoner  in  the  enemy's  lines.  Neither  Wing 
nor  Corporal  Connelly  had  yet  been  heard  from. 
In  those  days  the  accused  could  not  take  the  wit 
ness  stand  in  his  own  behalf.  He  could  only 
make  a  statement.  In  those  days  the  judge-advo 
cate  was  not  excluded,  as  now,  from  the  delibera 
tions  of  the  court  upon  the  evidence.  He  was 
there  to  argue  and  plead,  if  need  be,  the  case 
against  the  prisoner,  and  did  it.  On  the  last  day 
of  the  trial  Norman  Holt  had  read  with  choking 
voice  his  brief,  soldierly,  but  solemn  appeal.  He 
reiterated,  what  Malloy  had  denied  under  oath, 
that  the  one  witness  who  could  have  aided  him 
had  been  practically  ordered  by  Malloy  to  cross 
the  bridge — to  creep  within  earshot  of  the  ememy. 
He  declared  that  he  believed  now  that  it  was  all 
part  of  a  deliberately  arranged  plan  to  ruin  him. 
He  believed  the  coffee  given  him  had  been  drugged. 


200  NORMAN  HOLT 

He  had  no  evidence  of  any  kind  to  offer,  unless 
they  could  summon  his  old  captain  as  to  char 
acter,  or  that  new  young  brigadier-general,  Sheri 
dan,  who  had  urged  his  being  commissioned. 
The  judge-advocate  said  he  was  ready  to  admit 
that  the  captain  could  testify  to  his  having  been 
a  soldier  without  a  flaw.  So  might  Sheridan, 
though  he  had  only  seen  him  once.  These  were, 
after  all,  matters  of  individual  opinion  and  had 
nothing  to  do  with  the  case.  The  question  before 
the  court  was  whether  or  not  Holt  had  gone  to 
sleep  on  his  post  in  the  immediate  front  of  the 
enemy,  and  when  the  court  was  cleared  and 
closed  for  deliberation  the  prosecution  remained 
to  argue;  the  defense  went  back  to  jail. 

And  three  weeks  later,  with  a  stroke  of  his 
pen,  the  General  commanding  the  department- 
Grant  and  Buell  being  farther  to  the  south  watch 
ing  the  mysterious  moves  of  Beauregard  and 
Bragg— approved  the  findings  and  confirmed  the 
sentence  of  the  court,  "two-thirds  of  the  members 
thereof  concurring,"  that  Private  Norman  Holt, 
Company  * *C, "  — th  Ohio  Volunteer  Infantry,  guilty 
of  the  crime  of  sleeping  on  post,  be  shot  to  death 
by  musketry. 

There  was  a  strange,  solemn  scene,  when,  in 
the  presence  of  his  guard  and  certain  of  the  pris 
oners,  the  order  promulgating  that  sentence  was 
read.  The  young  officer  on  whom  devolved  the 
painful  duty  had  marched  with  him  many  a  day, 
shoulder  to  shoulder,  in  the  battalion  of  cadets, 
and,  though  not  in  the  same  class,  had  known  him 
well,  and  so  was  not  surprised  at  the  calm,  reso 


THE  DEATH  SENTENCE  301 

lute  bearing  of  the  almost  friendless  soldier.  Holt 
well  knew  what  to  expect.  Before  the  order  was 
in  print  the  rumor  was  on  the  streets  and  flying 
from  camp  to  camp. 

"The — the  date  will  be  announced  in  a  day  or 
two,"  said  the  aide-de-camp,  in  a  voice  that  grew 
husky  and  almost  inaudible.  Something  in  Nor 
man's  «  pale,  sad  face  moved  him  in  spite  of  official 
effort.  "The  General  has  directed  me  to  ask  if 
you  have  any — any  wishes  to  express. " 

"Yes,"  said  Norman,  promptly,  firmly.  "Yes, 
one.  I  ask  that  the  officer  who  swore  my  life 
away  may  be  required  to  complete  his  work- 
that  Lieutenant  Malloy  be  ordered  to  command 
the  firing  party. " 


CHAPTER  XVI 
SHOT— WITH  THE  HONORS  OF  WAR 

September,  and  all  the  North  was  in  wild 
alarm!  Lee,  outfighting  Pope  and  outstripping 
McClellan,  had  leaped  the  Potomac,  and  was 
swinging  northward  through  the  heart  of  Mary 
land,  his  flankers  riding  within  hail  of  Washing 
ton.  Bragg,  dodging  Buell,  was  bursting  into 
Kentucky,  where  Kirby  Smith  was  already  at 
work,  his  foremost  troopers  shaking  their  fists 
and  flaunting  their  guidons  in  the  very  face  of 
Cincinnati.  At  the  national  capital  there  was 
amaze  and  despond.  Throughout  the  Southland 
was  mad  exultation.  Through  Nashville,  day  after 
day,  poured  the  divisions  of  the  old  Army  of  the 
Ohio,  hanging  on  the  left  flank  of  the  foe,  yet 
never  checking  his  stride.  The  peril  of  the  Union 
oppressed  every  loyal  heart.  The  fate  of  the  old 
flag  hung  in  the  balance.  "Let  the  dead  bury 
their  dead,"  moaned  the  overweighted  President. 
"Every  man  must  be  at  the  front.  I  cannot 
grant  a  leave."  It  was  in  answer  to  the  plea 
of  a  convalescent  colonel,  begging  only  for  two 
days  in  which  to  carry  home  the  body  of  his 
beloved  wife,  who  had  nursed  him  and  his  men 
through  the  Chickahominy  fever,  only  to  fall  at 
last  herself  a  victim.  Those  were  days  in  which 
individual  cases  could  hardly  look  for  presidential 


NORMAN    HOLT   WAS    UTTERLY   ALONE,    IN    PRISON 
CONDEMNED   TO    BE    SHOT. 


Page  203 


SHOT— WITH  THE  HONORS  OP  WAR  2O3 

action  or  interference,  for  days  and  nights  were 
given  tip  to  public  business.  In  the  magnitude  of 
the  cares  of  the  commander-in-chief,  the  peril  of 
the  nation,  small  wonder  -was  it  that  there  seemed 
little  hope  of  bringing  to  the  presidential  ear  the 
lone  case  of  a  humble  private,  over  whom  the 
death  watch  had  been  set,  for  whom  there  would 
be  no  week  to  come  unless  he  signaled  "Hold." 

Enyart,  shot  in  fierce  cavalry  encounter  near 
McMinnville,  had  been  borne  to  hospital.  Gaffney, 
still  invalided,  had  been  transferred  to  a  camp 
for  convalescents.  Norman  Holt  was  utterly 
alone.  One  week— only  one  week,  and  the  stern 
soldier  at  the  head  of  the  department  had  said 
he  must  face  the  firing  squad,  that  the  army 
might  learn  its  fearful  lesson,  that  sleeping  on 
post  meant  death. 

He  had  written  to  the  Rays,  who  had  taken 
refuge  in  Louisville  while  Lexington  was  invaded, 
but  until  the  fourth  day  no  answer  reached  him. 
Then  it  came  in  the  form  of  a  letter  from  Captain 
Enyart's  mother,  saying  that  Mrs.  and  Miss  Ray 
had  gone  to  Washington  two  days  before  his 
letter  reached  the  house  and,  knowing  their  anx 
iety  on  his  account,  she  had  opened  it  and  tele 
graphed.  It  seems  Major  Lane,  too,  was  ill  of  a 
fever,  and  his  wife  and  daughter  had  been  sent 
for.  Mrs.  Enyart  was  in  deep  distress  about 
her  son,  who,  with  the  other  wounded,  was  be 
ing  slowly  trundled  out  of  Tennessee.  But  she 
dreaded  lest  Forrest  or  Morgan  should  swoop 
down  upon  the  train.  All  the  world  looked  black 
to  her,  but  she  could  find  time  to  write  words  of 


204  NORMAN  HOLT 

hope  and  cheer  to  the  lonely  and  condemned  pris 
oner.  Womanlike,  she  could  not  believe  it  possible 
that  so  atrocious  a  sentence  could  ever  be  carried 
out.  Long  years  of  peace  had  dulled  our  people 
to  the  fearful  possibilities  of  war. 

Five  of  the  seven  days  were  gone.  Nashville 
was  in  wild  commotion.  Bragg' s  triumphant 
hosts  had  crossed  the  Cumberland,  pounced  on 
the  Louisville  railway,  and  were  heading  for  that 
city  hard  as  they  could  go.  Buell  had  hastened 
through,  leaving  Thomas  to  command  a  day 
or  two,  then  bidding  him  follow.  Thomas  had 
turned  the  situation  over  to  Negley  and  hurried 
away  with  his  fine  division,  and  still  a  great 
force  was  left  to  hold  this  vitally  important  state 
capital,  and  the  eyes  of  all  men  were  turned 
northward  watching  for  the  first  sign  of  the  tre 
mendous  struggle  that  must  ensue  the  moment 
Bragg  could  be  brought  to  bay.  And  in  those 
days  there  drooped  alone,  apparently  deserted  of 
the  world  and  forgotten,  save  for  his  sentence, 
the  young  soldier  whose  loyalty  was  costing  him 
his  life. 

The  one  wish  he  had  expressed  savored  too 
much  of  the  melodramatic  to  find  favor  with  the 
General  in  command ;  yet  there  was  method  in  it, 
for  Holt  had  reasoned  that,  while  Malloy  might 
not  flinch  at  false  swearing,  now  that  he  had 
either  to  swear  falsely  or  admit  that  his  report 
of  the  affair  in  the  first  place  -was  largely  untrue, 
still,  he  might,  probably  would,  lack  the  nerve  to 
give  the  word  that  should  stretch  his  rival  dead 
at  his  feet.  Holt  did  not  know  that  only  to  an 


SHOT— WITH  THE  HONORS  OF  WAR  205 

officer  of  the  provost-marshal  'was  such  an  un 
welcome  duty  assigned,  and  that  under  no  cir 
cumstances  would  it  be  saddled  on  a  material 
witness.  Notified  that  his  request  could  not  be 
granted,  he  asked  that  at  least  Lieutenant  Malloy 
should  be  required  to  attend  the  execution.  Even 
that  ordeal  might  be  too  much  for  him,  and 
prompt  him  at  the  last  moment  to  confess  the 
truth;  but  Malloy  had  been  sent  -with  the  other 
witnesses  in  haste  to  join  their  regiment,  marching 
with  McCook  to  the  rescue  of  Louisville.  Sheri 
dan,  too,  they  told  him,  was  now  at  the  head  of 
a  division.  All  so  near,  and  yet,  under  the  cir 
cumstances,  powerless  to  aid  him. 

There  dawned  a  day  in  late  September  when 
the  clouds  hung  low  upon  the  sodden  earth,  for 
the  heavens  had  mercifully  opened  and  poured 
out  their  torrents  on  the  parched  and  thirsty 
hillsides,  and  drowned  out  the  dense  clouds  of 
choking  dust  through  which  had  been  tramping 
steadily  northward  the  long  columns,  gray  or 
blue,  all  now  one  uniform  shade  of  dirty  white. 
The  flag  hung  limp  and  heavy  on  Capitol  Hill. 
The  furrowed  ridges  to  the  south  were  crowned 
with  low-lying  mist.  The  coal  smoke  from  the 
steamer  funnels  along1  the  muddy  banks  flattened 
out  across  the  surface  of  the  swollen  river.  The 
skies  still  wept,  and  all  nature  seemed  in  sad 
accord  with  the  strange,  solemn  ceremony  staged 
upon  the  open,  undulating  fields  between  the 
southward  stretching  pikes.  In  long  blue  lines, 
forming  three  sides  of  a  hollow  square  and  facing 
inward,  a  brigade  had  taken  station  and  stood 


206  NORMAN  HOLT 

in  silence  and  at  rest.  Behind  them  swarmed  by 
hundreds  the  idlers  of  the  camps,  the  negroes  of 
the  city  streets,  the  curious,  the  morbid.  In  the 
center  of  the  square  a  freshly  turned  mound  of 
earth  lay  along  a  yawning,  narrow  rectangle— 
a  new-made  grave. 

Shrill  and  wailing,  and  to  the  accompaniment 
of  the  throb  and  roll  of  the  mournful  muffled 
drums,  the  notes  of  Pleyel's  hymn  rose  and  fell 
on  the  heavy  air,  as  into  the  square,  with  slow, 
funereal  step,  came  marching  a  little  column. 
Foremost  the  field  musicians  of  the  provost  guard. 
Then  a  lieutenant  with  a  dozen  infantry,  their 
arms  reversed,  their  eyes  downcast.  Following 
came  two  staff  officers  in  saddle,  and  then  a  two- 
horse  team,  with  a  long,  open  wagon,  surrounded 
by  guards  with  rifles  loaded  and  on  the  shoulder. 
Within  the  wagon,  from  which  all  but  the  driver's 
seat  had  been  removed,  upon  a  long,  rectangular 
box  of  unpainted  pine,  sat  a  young  soldier  in  the 
Union  blue.  The  box  nearly  filled  the  length  of 
the  wagon,  and  somebody  in  authority,  noticing 
this,  and  being  possibly  a  deputy  master  of  cere 
monies  for  the  occasion,  had  told  the  lone  occu 
pant  to  sit  faced  to  the  rear.  Obediently,  pas 
sively  he  had  submitted,  and,  with  dark,  mournful 
eyes,  from  which  all  light  of  earthly  hope  or  fire 
of  soldier  protest  had  fled,  he  sat  looking  sadly 
over  the  crowded  road  and  over  the  dripping 
fields;  over  the  heads  of  the  guards  who  followed 
close  at  the  tailboard — guards  whose  very  glances 
were  furtive  and  ashamed  when  they  glanced  at 
all.  In  that  solemn  funeral  procession  there  came 


SHOT— WITH  THE  HONORS  OF  WAR  207 

bat  one  more  vehicle,  a  buggy,  in  which,  seated 
beside  the  hired  driver,  was  a  gray-haired  chap 
lain,  whose  lips  seemed  moving  constantly,  as 
though  in  prayer;  whose  eyes  were  often  uplifted, 
as  though  imploring  divine  intercession;  often 
closed,  as  though  to  shut  out  from  sight  the  un 
utterable  sadness  of  the  young  face  before  him; 
yet  when  they  opened  again  were  fixed  upon  it  in 
tenderness  and  sympathy  unspeakable.  Six  thou 
sand  strong,  soldiers  in  rank,  spectators  in  nudging, 
shouldering,  neck-stretching,  gaping  swarms,  the 
onlookers  watched  the  coming  of  that  mournful 
little  cortege,  and  never  dreamed  that  that  very 
morning,  for  over  half  an  hour,  that  gentle  soldier 
of  the  cross  had  earnestly,  eloquently,  vehemently 
pleaded  with  the  General  at  whose  order  death 
was  to  be  dealt,  despite  the  recommendation  of 
the  court  for  mercy,  and  had  pleaded  all  in  vain. 
"Cruel?  Yes!'*  was  the  final  answer.  "But  unless 
this  army  learns  that  death  alone  can  be  the 
punishment  of  the  sentry  who  sleeps  upon  his 
post,  something  far  more  cruel  will  happen  any 
night.  I  would  not  remit  it  were  he  my  only 
son." 

The  head  of  the  column  had  reached  the  grave, 
and  there,  irresolute,  marked  time.  The  provost- 
marshal,  charged  with  the  execution  of  the  sen 
tence,  sat  in  saddle,  facing  them,  but  knew  not 
what  to  do.  Every  ceremony  laid  down  in  the  reg 
ulations — guard  mount,  review,  or  dress  parade — 
these  fellows  of  the  Army  of  the  Ohio  could  be 
cottnted  on  to  do  without  appreciable  flaw.  With 
out  ceremony,  too,  they  had  done  to  death  many 


208  NORMAN  HOLT 

a  man  along  their  blazing  front,  but  this  cere 
monious  shooting  of  a  fellow  soldier  in  cold  blood 
was  another  matter.  One  colonel,  reining  about, 
gave  the  command  " Attention!"  to  his  grave- 
faced  line.  The  other  two  followed  suit,  and 
military  propriety,  so  far  as  they  were  concerned, 
had  been  observed.  It  was  the  escort  itself  that 
seemed  uncertain,  and  the  column  halted.  Then 
the  staff  officers  and  the  provost-marshal  rode 
together  and  compared  notes  and  opinions,  but 
none  of  the  three  had  ever  seen  the  like  before, 
and  the  mode  of  procedure  was  not  prescribed 
in  the  tactics.  Just  one  thing  the  provost-mar 
shal  knew,  and  that  was,  in  case  the  firing  party 
failed,  through  nervousness  or  deliberate  design, 
to  kill  the  condemned  man,  it  would  become  his 
duty  to  finish  him  with  the  pistol,  and  the  pro 
vost-marshal  was  wondering  what  his  wife  and 
children  and  fellow  citizens  of  Chicago  would 
think  of  him  as  an  amateur  Calcraft,  and  prayed 
to  God  the  volley  might  spare  him — and  not  the 
prisoner. 

Then  the  senior  staff  officer  bade  the  drums  and 
fifes  strike  up  again  and  follow  him.  He  led 
them  twenty  yards  beyond  the  gaping  mouth  in 
the  face  of  the  field,  filed  them  to  the  left,  the 
escort  followed,  and  presently  he  had  them  in 
line  again,  their  backs  to  the  center  regiment,  the 
grave  in  their  front,  and  beyond  them,  two  hun 
dred  yards  away,  the  upward  slope  of  the  Over- 
ton  Ridge  to  stop  such  bullets  as  might  elude 
the  living  target.  The  wagon,  too,  reined  to 
one  side,  the  buggy  followed,  the  chaplain,  with 


SHOT-WITH  THE  HONORS  OF  WAR  209 

brimming  eyes,  stepped  slowly  forward  and  ex 
tended  a  helping  hand  to  the  young  soldier,  who 
thanked  him  in  a  low  tone,  but  vaulted  easily 
over  the  tailboard  and  stood  erect,  unbound, 
unshackled,  r-^d  took  his  place  by  the  chaplain's 
side.  The  gt*«*rd  looked  unhappily  about  them, 
and  the  provost-marshal,  after  a  whisper  with 
his  associates,  rode  over  and  said  in  a  low  tone : 
"Get  that — that  box  out,  some  of  you,  and  bring 
it  over  here."  It  took  personal  orders  from  the 
sergeant  to  induce  three  of  the  guard  to  lay  their 
rifles  aside,  and,  sliding  the  long  box  over  the 
creaking,  protesting  tailboard,  to  bear  it  to  the 
grave,  where,  after  much  muttered  talk  and  impa 
tient  gesticulation,  it  was  placed  close  to  the  edge 
of  and  parallel  with  the  cavity,  the  firing  party 
meanwhile  drearily  looking  on.  Then,  over  at  the 
right  of  the  regiment  forming  the  east  side  of  the 
square,  a  bugle  sounded  and  a  little  cavalcade 
came  riding  into  view.  A  General  with  four  or 
five  staff  officers  and  half  a  dozen  orderlies  entered 
the  square,  but  halted  as  soon  as  well  within, 
as  though  unwilling  to  come  closer  to  the  scere. 
Then  the  marshal  and  his  friends  again  took 
counsel.  "I  suppose  you'll  have  to  read  the 
order,"  said  he  to  the  senior,  "and — he  ought  to 
be  at  the  coffin,  oughtn't  he?"  he  added  in  a  low 
er  tone. 

"Yes,  and  afterward  he  must  be  blindfolded," 
answered  the  other,  thanking  God  he  didn't  have 
to  carry  out  his  own  suggestion. 

"Chaplain,  will  you  and — and  the  prisoner 
please  step  this  way?"  said  the  provost-marshal. 
14 


210  NORMAN  HOLT 

"Right  here—yes,  that's  right,"  for  the  condemned 
soldier,  calmly  removing  his  cap,  had  taken  the 
position  of  attention. 

"Don't  read— just  yet,"  whispered  the  major  to 
the  assistant  adjutant-general,  who,  sitting  very- 
high  on  his  horse,  and  clearing  his  throat,  was 
glancing  about  at  the  three  regimental  lines  as 
though  wondering  if  he  was  expected  to  make 
them  all  hear,  and  yet  sit  facing  the  prisoner. 
In  the  cuff  of  his  gauntlet  was  tucked  a  copy  of 
the  fateful  order,  and  he  wanted  to  get  through 
•with  his  part  of  the  business  as  quickly  as  possi 
ble.  Then  he  could  ride  off  back  of  the  brigadier 
—anywhere  out  of  sight  or  seeing.  But  the 
provost  had  bethought  himself  of  another  thing. 
One  of  the  twelve  rifles  told  off  for  the  execution 
should  be  charged  with  only  a  blank  cartridge, 
eleven  with  ball.  One  man  was  destined  to  fire 
a  harmless  shot.  No  man  was  to  know-  which. 
Any  man  might,  but  for  the  kick,  perhaps,  believe 
that  his  was  the  blank,  and  that,  therefore,  he 
had  no  part  in  the  sad  work.  But  how  was 
this  loading  to  be  accomplished  without  their 
knowing?  This  was  something  the  major  realized 
he  should  have  thought  of  before.  Here,  silent  and 
somber,  in  line,  stood  the  firing  squad.  There, 
huddled  about  the  wagon,  were  the  guard  with 
their  sergeant.  An  idea  occurred  to  the  officer. 
The  rifles  could  be  loaded  by  the  guard  while  the 
condemned  man  was  facing  the  adjutant-general 
and  listening  to  the  long  order  that  presently 
was  to  end  his  earthly  career.  Then  guards  and 
firing  party  could  temporarily  exchange.  "Go 


SHOT—WITH  THE  HONORS  OF  WAR  211 

ahead,  Captain,"  whispered  he,  "read  the  order," 
and,  glancing  about  him  at  the  dtdl  blue  ranks 
of  the  silent  square,  the  staff  officer  again  cleared 
his  throat  and  nervously  began. 

With  the  first  faltering  words  the  clouds  that 
had  for  a  time  retained  their  tears  began  again 
slowly,  but  heavily,  to  weep.  Two  or  three  big 
drops  pattered  on  the  paper  already  shaking  in 
the  officer's  hand.  Holt,  unbound,  unfettered 
still,  but  bareheaded,  stood  calmly,  sadly,  at 
attention,  his  dark  eyes  fixed  upon  the  reader's 
face.  The  gray-haired  chaplain  had  stepped  for 
ward  and  placed  himself  silently  by  the  side  of 
the  condemned  man.  A  young  officer,  the  aide- 
de-camp  who  had  borne  the  General's  message  to 
him,  had  announced  his  intention  of  standing  by 
his  comrade  of  cadet  days,  but  unaccountably  he 
failed  to  appear.  "I  don't  blame  him,"  thought 
the  chaplain,  as  he  looked  upon  the  solemn  prep 
arations.  Off  to  one  side,  beyond  the  wagon,  the 
provost-marshal  had  moved  the  firing  squad,  and 
now  they  were  stacking  arms.  With  pale,  awe- 
stricken  faces,  the  drummer  boys  stood  gazing  at 
the  prisoner  and  listening  in  bewilderment  to  the 
long  technicalities  of  charge  and  specification  as 
the  reader  proceeded.  Two  officers  with  green 
sashes  under  their  waist  belts  had  come  forward 
from  the  east  side  of  the  square,  saluted  the  pro 
vost-marshal,  and  joined  the  group  about  the 
wagon,  which  had  been  moved  a  dozen  yards 
back  of  the  grave,  so  that  the  entire  brigade, 
drawn  up  to  witness  the  last  ceremony  and  profit 
by  the  same,  could  to  the  last  man  have  unob- 


212  NORMAN  HOLT 

structed  view.  All  eyes  seemed  fastened  on  the 
little  group  in  front  of  that  freshly  turned  heap 
of  earth  and  the  bare  pine  box  beside  it — the 
mounted -reader,  the  two  silent  listeners.  Behind 
the  adjutant-general,  a  few  paces  retired,  sat  in 
saddle  his  comrade  of  the  staff.  Behind  him, 
fifty  yards  away,  all  its  mounted  officers  on  the 
flanks  or  in  the  rear  of  the  file  closers,  stood  the 
center  regiment.  In  the  gap  between  its  left 
flank  and  the  band  of  the  eastward  battalion, 
the  brigade  commander  and  his  staff  and  orderlies 
were  grouped,  and  as  one  of  the  latter  rode  for 
ward  and  tendered  a  poncho  to  his  chief,  and  held 
his  broad-brimmed  black  hat  while  the  General 
poked  his  head  through  the  slit  and  settled  the 
rubber  on  his  starred  shoulders,  another  horse 
man,  a  young  staff  officer,  rode  swiftly  in  from  the 
Franklin  pike,  and  sat  in  saddle  at  salute  as  the 
brigadier  again  straightened  up. 

Not  a  word  was  exchanged.  Significantly  the 
aide  pointed  to  an  official  envelope  protruding 
from  between  the  second  and  fifth  buttons  of  his 
uniform  coat.  Significantly  the  General  raised  his 
gauntleted  right  hand  and  motioned  toward  the 
somber  little  group  out  in  the  center  of  the  square. 
The  firing  party  once  more  resumed  their  arms 
and  stood  at  the  wagon  awaiting  orders.  The 
surgeon,  with  long,  folded  handkerchief  in  his 
hand,  had  stepped  up  in  rear  of  the  prisoner.  It 
-was  the  bandage  prepared  to  blindfold  his  eyes, 
shutting  out  for  the  last  time  the  blessed  light  of 
day.  But  surgeons  both,  the  provost-marshal, 
the  associate  staff  officers,  the  chaplain,  whose 


SHOT— WITH  THE  HONORS  OP  WAR  213 

arm  began  to  tremble  violently,  guards,  firing 
party — all,  save  Norman  Holt  and  the  reader, 
now  found  themselves  staring  at  a  new  arrival, 
the  aide-de-camp,  who  came  riding  slowly  forward 
and  reined  in  just  a  little  to  the  left  rear  of  his 
senior's  stirrup. 

Solemnly  the  adjutant-general  read  the  closing 
words:  "The  proceedings,  findings,  and  sentence 
in  the  foregoing  case  of  Private  Norman  Holt  are 
approved,  and  the  sentence  will  be  duly  executed." 
Solemnly  he  read  the  fateful  order  requiring  that 
the  sentence  be  carried  out  in  the  presence  of  as 
many  of  the  garrison  as  could  be  spared  from 
their  station,  and,  when  he  dictated,  the  General 
thought  to  have  no  less  than  a  full  division  on 
the  spot.  Solemnly  the  date  and  time  were  an 
nounced,  and  the  provost-marshal  charged  with 
the  execution  of  the  order,  and  with  the  last 
words,  "By  command  of  Major-General  Blank,  B. 
F.  Nemo,  Assistant  Adjutant-general,"  the  reader 
slowly  folded  his  paper,  turned,  and  bowed  to  the 
provost-marshal. 

And  then  rode  two  yards  farther  to  the  front 
the  young  aide-de-camp,  touched  his  cap,  and 
handed  to  his  senior  the  envelope  that  nestled  in 
the  breast  of  his  trim  uniform  coat.  Eagerly  it 
-was  grasped.  Quickly  was  it  torn  open.  With 
eyes  that  lighted  with  sudden  joy  and  relief  un 
utterable,  the  soldier  read,  and  then  the  voice  so 
choked  and  hoarse  the  moment  before  rang  out 
on  the  misty  air  like  the  clarion  tone  of  the 
stirring  call  he  loved,  and  over  the  sodden  fields 
and  away  to  the  fog-wreathed  ridges  to  the 


214  NORMAN  HOLT 

south,  the  thrilling  voice  proclaimed  so  that  all 
men  might  hear  and  know  and  thank  God  with 
him: — 

"And  now  the  commanding  General  directs  me 
to  declare  that  the  prisoner  stands  pardoned  and 
restored  to  duty — by  order  of  the  President  of  the 
United  States." 

"Oh,  may  God  bless  Abraham  Lincoln!"  went  up 
the  cry  from  the  chaplain's  lips,  as  he  clasped  a 
reeling,  swaying  form  in  his  strong  and  tender 
arms. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

COMMISSIONED 

The  long-expected  campaign  on  Kentucky  soil 
had  come  and  gone,  much  to  the  detriment  of 
Kentucky  and  the  betterment  of  nobody.  Many 
a  brave  life  went  out  in  the  crash  of  battle  along 
the  Chaplin  Hills,  and  both  commanding  generals, 
Bragg  and  Buell,  were  the  losers  by  the  luckless 
fight.  Bragg,  who  had  been  vehemently  urged  to 
invade  the  State  and  promised  that  thousands 
of  enthusiastic  Kentuckians  would  flock  to  his 
standard,  fell  back  into  Tennessee  disgusted. 
Unreasoning  hot-heads  among  his  advisers,  among 
them  Dr.  Holt,  had  insisted  that  the  sight  of  the 
St.  Andrew's  cross  waving  through  the  blue  grass 
country  was  all  that  was  needed  to  turn  the 
tide.  The  invaders  brought  with  them  to  Frank 
fort  a  new  Governor  and  state  officers,  there  to 
be  installed  in  pomp  and  ceremony.  But  the 
shotted  guns  of  Sill's  division  answered  the  roar 
of  their  saluting  cannon,  and  shelled  the  aspirants 
out  of  the  statehouse  before  their  seats  had  time 
to  warm.  Twenty  thousand  new  rifles  were 
brought  by  Bragg  with  which  to  arm  the  young 
Kentuckians,  and  he  was  in  big  luck  to  be  able 
to  take  them  back,  for  the  Kentuckians  failed 
to  come  to  claim  them,  barring  several  stalwart 


216  NORMAN  HOLT 

regiments  in  Union  blue.  Brave,  brilliant,  and  ad 
mirably  supported  by  his  corps  and  division 
commanders,  the  Southern  General  had  been 
grievously  misled  by  over-confident  Kentuckians 
within  his  ranks,  and  in  bitterness  of  spirit  he 
abused  the  State,  declared  it  not  worth  fighting 
for,  and  found  that  he  had  not  only  left  the 
"dark  and  bloody  ground"  more  loyal  than  when 
he  entered  it,  but  had  lost  in  marked  degree 
the  confidence  and  loyalty  of  many  of  his  gallant 
men.  So  far  as  the  South  was  concerned,  the 
campaign  was  a  failure.  So  far  as  Kentucky 
was  concerned,  it  had  cost  her  dear,  for  many 
an  old  homestead  in  the  track  of  the  battling 
armies  lay  in  ruins.  And  so  far  as  the  Union 
arms  were  concerned,  they,  too,  had  suffered 
through  dissensions  in  high  quarters,  and  no 
sooner  were  the  Southern  legions  safely  back 
in  Tennessee  than  the  Army  of  the  Ohio,  little 
lamenting  either,  so  stern  had  been  his  methods, 
was  taken  from  the  man  who  made  it  and  given 
to  another.  It  is  one  thing  to  mold  and  make, 
to  drill  and  discipline  a  great  command;  it  is 
another  to  lead  and  fight  it,  as  a  long-suffering 
President  and  Commander-in-Chief  of  the  land 
and  sea  forces  of  the  Union  had  abundant  reason 
to  know.  Both  East  and  West,  and  almost  at 
the  same  time,  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  and 
that  of  the  Ohio  lost  their  old  leaders  and  were 
launched  into  battle  with  the  new. 

Meanwhile  there  had  been  opportunity  for  many 
a  cavalier  son  of  Kentucky  to  revisit  in  Con 
federate  gray  the  home  of  his  youth  and  love, 


COMMISSIONED  217 

and  for  one  brief  fortnight  Belleview  and  Asholt, 
lying  well  within  the  broad  pathway  of  Bragg' s 
invasion,  and  to  the  east  of  Buell's  racing  column, 
awoke  from  the  lethargy  of  the  year  and  once 
more  rang  with  martial  voices  and  soldier  revelry. 
Once  more  the  rejoicing  squire,  hastening  home 
ward  with  the  army,  threw  open  the  doors  and 
welcomed  the  gallant  comrades  of  his  first-born 
son.  With  eager  enthusiasm  the  doctor  had  fol 
lowed  the  movements  of  Bragg's  hosts,  never 
for  an  instant  doubting  the  result;  and,  rallying 
about  him  the  old  retainers,  faithful  to  him  even 
in  his  exile,  he  filled  manor  and  stables  with  man 
and  beast  from  each  successive  division  on  its 
northward  way,  and  lavished  on  officer  and  sol 
dier,  on  mount  and  mule,  the  best  that  Belleview 
afforded.  He  waited  with  mad  impatience  the 
announcement  that  Louisville  had  fallen  before 
the  advance  guard,  and  was  amazed  to  hear  that 
Sill  had  whipped  the  new  Governor,  "the  only 
rightful  Governor,  sir,"  out  of  Frankfort,  and, 
worse  still,  that  Bragg  was  falling  back.  He 
listened  to  the  thunder  of  the  guns  at  Perryville, 
at  first  with  wild  elation,  then  with  harrow 
ing  doubt,  for  when  nightfall  came  the  dull  boom 
ing  died  away  and  the  roads  began  to  choke 
with  ambulances  seeking  shelter  for  wounded 
officers  and  men.  At  midnight  there  had  come 
to  him  a  line  saying  that  already  the  trains  were 
moving  away  southeastward,  and  it  was  high 
time  for  him  to  follow.  What,  Bragg  beaten! 
Kentucky  abandoned !  Belleview  again  to  be  left 
to  the  scant  mercy  of  invading  Yankee  hordes! 


218  NORMAN  HOLT 

"By  heaven,  it  is  horrible!"  said  he.  "I  will 
not  go!  I'll  stay  and  fight!  Where  is  my  son, 
my  Henry?"  he  demanded.  "Send  him  to  me  in 
stantly!  Say  his  father  bids  him  come  and  fight 
for  Belleview.  Bragg  is  a  coward!  Bragg  is  a 
traitor!  Bragg  has  betrayed  us!"  he  raged.  And 
the  young  staff  officer  who  bore  from  General 
Polk  the  brief  words  of  advice  besought  old  Hark- 
less  to  send  at  once  for  Dr.  Woodrow— he  dreaded 
an  apoplectic  seizure — and  Woodrow  came  and 
sought  to  soothe  and  counsel,  only  adding  to  the 
fury  of  the  broken  old  squire.  Not  until  the 
night  was  nearly  spent  and  the  cavalry  detach 
ment  was  resaddling  on  the  lawn,  was  he  in 
duced  to  enter  his  carriage  and  be  driven  east 
ward.  Even  then  it  took  stratagem  to  bring 
it  about.  "You  must  get  him  away,"  said  Wood- 
row.  "If  captured  he  will  be  sent  to  some  North 
ern  prison,  and  that  will  kill  him."  The  matter 
was  settled  by  the  entry  of  one  of  the  troopers 
with  a  letter,  only  just  written  on  the  kitchen 
table  while  the  host  was  raging  in  the  library, 
but  it  was  dated  at  Stanford,  7  p.m.,  and  all 
it  said  was,  "Major  Holt  seriously  wounded. 
Just  brought  in.  Come  to  him  as  soon  as  pos 
sible."  It  was  signed  "Polk,  surgeon,  C.  S.  A." 
Before  the  dawn  the  broken-hearted  father  was 
jolted  away  in  the  old  family  carriage  behind 
a  pair  of  mules  —  Belleview's  last  remaining 
horses  having  disappeared  when  the  Holts  fled  to 
Nashville;  and,  once  they  had  him  well  within 
the  encircling  force  of  Bragg's  slowly  retreating 
column,  there  was  no  turning  back,  even  when 


COMMISSIONED  219 

it  was  ascertained  that  Henry  had  escaped  with 
out  a  scratch,  and  that  "Polk,  surgeon,"  was  a 
myth.  Then  the  doctor  would  gladly  have  shot 
the  vile  forger,  but  in  his  agitation  he  had  left 
the  forgery  on  the  library  table,  where  Harkless 
found  it  on  the  following  day,  and  where,  two 
weeks  later,  he  laid  it  in  the  hands  of  a  sor 
rowing  young  soldier  in  Union  blue — Norman 
Holt,  returned  at  last  to  look  upon  what  was 
left  of  the  once-beautiful  and  ever-beloved  home. 

His  father  again  gone!  His  brother  again 
wounded,  this  time  seriously!  His  home  dis 
mantled,  fences  burned,  lawn  and  shrubbery  dis 
figured  by  reckless  hands  and  trampling  hoofs; 
outbuildings  stripped,  stables,  kennels,  and  coach 
house  partially  destroyed,  while  within  doors,  des 
olation,  if  not  desecration,  reigned  everywhere! 
Woodrow  and  other  old  friends  had  packed  up 
books  and  pictures,  silver,  china,  and  glassware, 
and,  for  love  of  the  Holts,  and  in  hopes  of  better 
days,  stored  it  all  away  in  loyal  lofts  and  cellars. 
But  the  noble  old  furniture,  the  carpets  and  cur 
tains  and  hangings,  had  already  been  sadly  de 
faced,  and  who  could  say  what  might  happen 
next?  Sheridan's  division,  sorely  hammered  at 
Perryville,  was  camping  all  about  it,  resting  for 
a  day  on  the  slow  westward  march  to  Bowling 
Green,  whither  Buell  directed  his  columns  after 
escorting  Bragg  to  Cumberland  Gap,  and  Sheri 
dan  himself  had  slept  within  Belleview's  walls, 
and  stationed  sentries  to  see  that  no  harm  befell 
it  while  his  fighters  filled  the  neighboring  fields. 

And  with  that  snappy  young  division  commander 


220  NORMAN  HOLT 

there  rode  now  as  inspector-general  on  his  staff 
the  youthful  aide-de-camp  who  had  so  befriended 
Norman  Holt  in  the  bitter  days  of  his  trial 
and  incarceration  at  Nashville,  who,  next  to  the 
old  chaplain,  was  the  first  to  wring  his  hand  and 
welcome  him  to  life,  to  freedom,  to  new  oppor 
tunity.  Even  in  the  busy  days  of  the  pursuit 
and  the  recuperation  after  Perryville,  Sheridan 
had  found  time  to  listen  to  Captain  Ransom's 
vivid  account  of  that  dramatic  scene  and  of  the 
trial  and  tribulations  that  preceded  it,  and  now 
the  little  General's  sympathies  were  fully  aroused, 
and  his  efforts  in  Norman's  behalf  were  redoubled. 
An  order  had  earlier  been  obtained  granting  the 
young  soldier  a  month's  furlough,  for  by  this 
time  his  history,  his  high  connections,  and  his 
sufferings  -were  matters  that  were  the  talk  of  half 
the  army.  The  Enyarts  had  opened  their  hospi 
table  doors  to  him  at  Louisville,  despite  the  fact 
that  already  they  had  three  wounded  officers 
beneath  their  roof.  Captain  Bob,  recovering  slow 
ly,  had  eagerly  questioned  their  soldier  guest  as 
to  any  knowledge  he  might  have  concerning  the 
influence  brought  to  bear  upon  the  President. 
On  this  point  Enyart  seemed  oddly  inquisitive.  A 
stern  War  Secretary  had  declared  such  sentences 
must  be  executed  or  all  discipline  fail.  East  and 
West  such  sentences  had  been  carried  out,  yet  here 
in  the  case  of  Norman  Holt,  where  the  evidence 
seemed  conclusive,  at  the  last  moment  the  great, 
the  merciful,  the  sorrowing,  suffering,  over- weight 
ed  head  of  the  nation  had  interposed  and  par 
doned.  Who  could  have  gained  his  ear? 


COMMISSIONED  221 

It  was  something  Norman  himself  greatly  longed 
to  know.  The  Lanes  were  again  in  Cincinnati, 
so  Mrs.  Enyart  had  learned,  and  there  the  major 
and  judge-advocate  was  convalescing.  The  Rays 
had  returned  to  Lexington  as  soon  as  Bragg' s 
forces  fell  back,  and  they  heard  of  Kate  Ray  no 
bly,  assiduously  laboring  in  the  hospitals,  nurs 
ing  our  sick  and  wounded — ours  whether  blue  or 
gray.  Enyart  begged  his  mother  to  write  and 
urge  their  coming  again  to  Louisville,  and  the 
mother  promised,  but  could  she  not  minister 
to  her  only  son  without  another's  help?  And  if 
that  other  came,  might  not  the  mother's  hand, 
dear  as  it  was,  be — no,  no,  not  spurned,  but  set 
aside  for  the  sake  of  another?  With  unerring  eyes 
she  had  seen  signs  and  symptoms  in  her  brave 
boy  that  told  their  tale  almost  before  he  himself 
knew  what  they  meant.  Kate  was  a  fine  girl,  a 
noble  girl,  she  admitted,  but  Bob  was  her  all, 
and  how  many  a  mother  thinks  her  only  son 
almost  too  good  for  almost  any  woman,  when 
it  is  apt  to  be  just  the  other  way !  Now,  if  Henry 
Holt  were  only  left  wounded  at  Lexington  or 
Harrodsburg — or  somewhere — how  suitable  that 
might  be!  Bob  was  for  having  Norman  go  to 
fetch  them.  They  could  be  so  much  more  com 
fortable  than  in  Lexington,  overcrowded  as  it 
must  be  with  sick  and  wounded.  But  Norman 
had  been  only  twenty-four  hours  within  their 
gates  when  he  set  forth  again  on  matters  of 
his  own.  Reporting  at  the  commanding  General's 
he  had  received  the  necessary  pass  and  papers 
to  permit  his  visiting  Belleview,  and  had  gone 


222  NORMAN  HOLT 

forthwith.  It  was  but  a  sorrowful  reminder  of 
the  old  home  in  which  "young  marse"  now  mod 
estly  strove  to  do  the  honors  to  the  fiery,  rest 
less,  mettlesome  division  commander  who  had 
espoused  his  cause.  It  was  strange,  indeed,  that 
he,  the  younger  son,  and  still  a  private  soldier 
upon  the  rolls,  should  welcome  to  Belleview,  and 
then,  seated  in  his  father's  place,  become  the 
host  of  a  Union  General  and  his  staff.  The  civil 
ian  garb  old  Harkless  had  carefully  preserved 
for  him  needed  longer  sleeves,  yet  hung  loosely 
about  the  thinned  flank,  for  suffering  and  priva 
tion  had  sorely  reduced  him.  But  hope  was 
again  kindling  his  brave  young  eyes,  for  the 
long-withheld  opportunity  was  coming.  Sheri 
dan  had  not  appealed  in  vain. 

And  then  the  division  went  on  its  westward 
way,  and  only  stragglers  appeared  for  several 
days  at  Belleview.  Norman  had  written  at  once 
to  the  Rays,  apprising  them  of  his  father's  recent 
movements  and  of  Henry's  serious  wound,  and 
begged  them  to  ascertain  through  friends  at 
Harrodsburg  whether  the  latter  had  been  left 
with  other  wounded  or  carried  along  with 
Bragg's  retreat.  Woodrow,  accused  now  of  being 
a  Southern  sympathizer,  with  certain  of  Asholt's 
citizens,  had  fled  Tennessee  ward  until  the  Union 
troops  were  once  more  grouped  about  Glasgow 
and  along  the  railway.  And  so  it  happened  that 
there  was  no  one  to  undeceive  Norman  during  the 
few  days  he  remained  at  Belleview,  packing  and 
storing  such  property  as  might  still  be  rescued. 
The  overseer  knew  not  how  to  treat  him.  It  was 


COMMISSIONED  223 

understood  among  the  townsfolk  and  the  neigh 
bors  that  Norman  stood  disinherited,  yet,  with 
the  father  and  elder  brother  both  away,  who 
could  question  his  authority?  Among  the  darkies, 
still  hovering  about  the  old  home,  there  was 
universal  love  for  young  Marse  Norman,  and  they 
were  eager  to  do  his  bidding. 

But  the  month  would  soon  expire.  There  was 
still  a  most  important  matter  to  be  settled.  He 
had  written  to  Major  Lane,  most  courteously,  yet 
pointedly,  asking  for  an  accounting.  He  felt  that 
there  should  be  money  coming  to  him  from  the 
few  thousands  still  left  of  his  mother's  modest 
fortune,  but  not  for  a  year  had  Lane  remitted  a 
dollar.  Now  money  was  needed  for  Belleview  and 
himself.  He  much  disliked  to  importune,  but  it 
had  to  be  done. 

And  he  had  waited  ten  days  for  the  reply.  None 
came.  None  had  been  received  at  Louisville,  and 
no  time  was  to  be  lost.  Norman  decided  on  re 
turning  at  once  to  department  headquarters  and 
obtaining  permission  to  go  to  Cincinnati.  That 
night  came  a  banging  at  Belleview's  door  that 
would  have  waked  sounder  sleepers  than  Norman 
Holt.  In  the  moonlight  without,  with  panting 
horses,  stood  a  brace  of  troopers.  Old  Harkless 
shuffled  down  and  admitted  the  bearer  of  an 
official-looking  letter,  and  Norman  met  him  at  the 
stairs. 

"This  was  forwarded  to  camp  from  Bowling 
Green,  sir,"  said  the  orderly,  with  a  touch  of  his 
cap,  "and  the  colonel  sent  us  over  with  it,  as  it 
was  marked  immediate  and  important. " 


224  NORMAN  HOLT 

The  blood  flew  to  Norman's  face  even  before  he 
saw  the  superscription.  That  "sir"  and  the  ac 
companying  salute  told  their  story.  The  packet 
was  addressed  to  Lieutenant  Norman  Holt,  — th 
Kentucky  Volunteer  Infantry,  care  Commanding 
General  Eleventh  Division,  and  it  was  hard  to 
repress  the  gasp  of  delight  with  which  he  read 
it.  An  officer  at  last!  and,  best  of  all,  with  a 
regiment  from  his  own  beloved  State !  Who  but 
Sheridan  could  have  done  this?  How  could  he 
sufficiently  thank  him?  He  tore  open  the  packet, 
and  there  was  the  prized  commission — a  first 
lieutenant's,  too — all  duly  signed  and  sealed,  and 
with  it  were  other  missives — one  from  Ransom, 
whose  handwriting  he  knew  at  once,  and  there 
fore  opened  it  first.  "The  General  bids  me  send 
this,  with  his  hearty  congratulations,  to  which 
I  beg  leave  to  add  mine,"  wrote  the  young  cap 
tain.  "He  had  a  chance  to  speak  to  the  Gover 
nor.  McCook  backed  him  up  in  his  big-hearted 
way,  and  the  thing  was  done.  It's  a  bully  regi 
ment,  too,  and  most  of  its  officers  are  gentlemen 
to  whom  your  name  is  well  known.  See  the 
mustering  officer  in  Louisville  quick  as  you  can, 
and  at  the  expiration  of  your  thirty  days'  leave 
report  for  duty.  You'll  find  your  regiment  at  or 
en  route  for  Nashville.  Oddly  enough,  you  will 
be  brigaded  with  your  old  comrades  of  the  — th 
Ohio." 

In  the  same  brigade  with  the  old  regiment,  to 
meet  day  after  day,  as  equals  and  associates 
now,  the  officers  whom  he  had  been  wont  to  greet 
with  such  deference  and  soldierly  show  of  respect  1 


COMMISSIONED  225 

Above  all,  to  meet  Malloy,  no  longer  his  superior 
— to  meet  him  on  the  same  plane !  Norman's  eyes 
blazed,  his  hands  clinched  at  the  thought.  But, 
first,  he  was  master  at  Belleview  and  standing 
in  his  father's  stead.  "Harkless,  see  to  it  that  a 
hot  supper  is  got  ready  for  three  at  once,  and 
show  the  orderlies  where  they  can  stable  their 
horses.  They  shall  have  the  best  we've  got,  but 
the  war  has  played  havoc  with  Belleview." 

He  was  alone  when  he  opened  the  next  letter, 
a  queer-looking  affair  at  best,  but  filled  to  the 
brim  with  loyal  and  affectionate  greeting.  It 
was  from  old  Gaffney,  who  had  been  among  the 
first  to  get  the  news  and  shout  aloud  in  his  joy. 

"Just  wa'nt  the  boys  be  proud  when  I  tell 
them!"  wrote  he,  "and  I'm  going  on  the  minute 
I  finish  this.  Sure,  wasn't  it  blessed  luck  that 
brought  me  to  Sheridan's  headquarters  when  the 
mail  got  in.  We'll  have  you  close  by  us,  Norman, 
my  lad,  and,  bedad,  I'll  see  to  it  Malloy  doesn't 
get  away  till  you  come  to  pull  the  nose  of  him. 
What  d'ye  think,  Norman,  will  he  try  to  quit?  Oh, 
that  reminds  me.  You  know  they  sent  young 
Lane  back  to  the  company  at  Louisville,  when  we 
went  through  before  Perry ville  (that  we  only  heard 
from  beyant  Harrodsburg — bad  scran  to  it!),  and 
when  Malloy  would  have  coddled  him  and  kept 
him  out  of  their  ranks,  I  set  him  to  drilling  again. 
He  was  never  cut  out  for  a  soldier,  that  boy. 
He  was  nothing  but  a  ne'er-do-weel,  anyhow. 
They  put  him  on  wagon  guard  on  the  march 
over  from  Crab  Orchard,  and,  bedad,  when  he 
answered  to  his  name  at  Cove  City  he  wasn't 
15 


22«  NORMAN  HOLT 

there  at  all  at  all.  Brennan,  who  was  took  sick  and 
left  back  at  Greenville,  said  he  came  in  and  got  $5 
off  of  him  after  the  wagons  went  through,  and 
now  he's  dropped  .as  a  deserter,  with  his  own 
father  ordered  for  duty  as  judge-advocate  of  the 
Department  of  the  Cumberland.  I'm  thinking 
that  boy  makes  nothing  but  trouble  for  every 
body."  " 


CHAPTER  XVHI 
ANOTHER  ARREST 

November— and  the  North  was  neither  hope 
ful  nor  content.  Superior  numbers  had  told  at 
Sharpsburg,  after  the  bloodiest  battle  of  the  war, 
but  Lee  had  been  allowed  quietly  to  withdraw  to 
Virginia  unopposed,  unpursued— McClellan  seem 
ing  only  too  glad  to  get  rid  of  him  on  any  terms. 
There,  in  the  familiar  old  fields  along  the  head 
waters  of  the  Rappahannock,  he  faced  about, 
while  McClellan  halted.  The  Maryland  campaign 
had  cost  the  South  dear,  but  the  invaders  went 
back  at  their  leisure.  With  Washington  and  all 
the  Northland  urging  and  egging  him  on,  Mc 
Clellan  sat  down  on  the  banks  of  the  Potomac 
while  the  Southern  army  sauntered  away.  In 
like  manner  had  Bragg  backed  out  of  Kentucky 
through  Cumberland  Gap,  and  faced  about  in 
Middle  Tennessee.  In  like  manner  in  Kentucky 
the  South  had  suffered  disappointment  and  heavy 
loss.  In  like  manner  Washington  and  the  North 
demanded  of  Buell  that  he  "do  something,"  but 
the  something  the  new  General-in-Chief  projected 
for  him  was  so  obviously  absurd  that  nothing 
was  done,  and  the  heads  of  the  two  armies — the 
Potomac  and  the  Ohio— were  knocked  off  almost 
at  the  same  time.  Burnside  took  McClellan's 
place.  Rosecrans  rode  forward,  vice  Buell  de- 


228  NORMAN  HOLT 

posed,  and  the  nation  held  its  breath  and  looked 
for  great  things  in  December.  The  great  things 
presently  came.  Burnside  bumped  his  head  against 
a  stone  wall  on  the  Rappahannock.  Rosecrans 
was  well-nigh  swamped  the  first  day  at  Stone 
River.  Fredericksburg  and  Mttrfreesboro'  added 
to  the  gloom  and  despond  all  over  the  North, 
as  well  as  to  the  frightful  list  of  casualties. 
Those  were  evil  days  for  Union-loving  men.  Those 
were  trying  times  in  thousands  of  homes  all  over 
the  Northland.  And  there  had  been  tragedy  at 
one  fireside,  at  least,  in  the  Queen  City. 

The  acceptance  of  a  commission  had  made  it 
absolutely  necessary  that  Norman  Holt  should 
have  money,  and  that  without  delay.  The  letter 
which  he  found  at  the  Eny arts'  on  his  return  to 
Louisville  had  given  him  more  anxiety  than  as 
surance.  At  last  Mrs.  Lane  replied  for  her  hus 
band,  but  there  were  coldness  and  constraint  in  the 
brief  page. 

"Mr.  Lane  would  have  written  before,"  she 
wrote,  "but  he  is  still  too  weak  from  the  effects 
of  his  long  fever  to  be  able  to  attend  to  business 
of  any  kind,  and  the  doctor  enjoins  entire  rest 
and  freedom  from  care.  He  bids  me  say,  however, 
that  just  as  soon  as  he  is  permitted  he  will  have 
your  affairs  examined,  and  render  prompt  account 
ing.  During  Mr.  Lane's  absence  in  front  of  Wash 
ington  the  office  has  been  practically  closed,  in 
charge  of  the  janitor,  and  the  gentleman  who  has 
been  looking  after  the  business,  the  investments, 
etc.,  is  at  present  out  of  town.  It  may  be  a  week 
or  ten  days  before  a  satisfactory  report  can  be 


ANOTHER  ARREST 

prepared,  but  it  will  be  sent  to  the  care  of  Cap 
tain  Enyart.  Hoping  that  you  have  fully  recov 
ered  your  health,  and  that  this  cruel  war  may 
have  in  store  for  you  no  further  ills,  a  hope  in 
which  Mr.  Lane  earnestly  shares,  I  remain,  very 
sincerely  yours,"  etc.,  etc. 

Not  a  word  about  Daisy!  Not  a  suggestion 
as  to  his  running  up  to  Cincinnati !  Not  a  cordial 
or  genuine  line !  Enyart  saw  the  perplexity  and 
trouble  in  his  face,  and  Norman  read  a  portion 
of  the  brief  missive  aloud.  "Who  is  the  gentleman 
who  has  been  looking  after  investments?"  asked 
Bob,  on  the  instant.  "Do  you  suppose  it  could 
be  old  Malloy?  If  so,  you  get  a  two  weeks'  ex 
tension.  You'll  need  it,  anyhow,  getting  your 
outfit  and  so  forth;  so  start  for  Cincinnati  as 
quick  as  you  can." 

And  Holt  took  the  advice  and  the  money  En 
yart  pressed  upon  him,  and  a  few  lines  from 
that  young  captain  to  the  adjutant-general  at 
headquarters,  where  he  briefly  told  enough  of  his 
tale  to  win  permission  to  go  to  Cincinnati  on 
urgent  personal  business,  and  to  delay  joining  his 
regiment  until  the  30th.  The  chief  of  staff  looked 
him  over  keenly,  revolving  in  his  mind  the  several 
stories  that  had  been  told  of  this  new  lieutenant 
who  had  not  yet  tried  on  his  uniform.  The  mail 
packet  left  early  in  the  evening,  and,  crowded 
though  the  big  boat  proved  to  be,  a  berth  in  a 
little  stateroom  was  to  be  had,  and,  leaving  there 
his  light  luggage,  Norman  took  a  seat  at  a  table 
in  the  cabin,  intending  to  write  to  the  Rays,  who 
had  declined  Mrs.  Eny art's  not  too  pressing  invi 


230  NORMAN  HOLT 

tation  to  visit  her,  and  also  to  Gaffhey,  to  whom 
he  felt  grateful  beyond  expression.  But  there 
were  dozens  of  men,  loud  talk  and  not  a  little 
confusion.  There  were  officers  of  the  staff  and 
supply  departments,  clerks,  civilians,  and  soldiers. 
There  were  many  women — mothers,  wives,  and 
•widows — returning  from  sojourns  near  the  camps 
or  hospitals,  -where  their  soldiers  had  been  serving 
or  suffering.  There  were  contractors  and  politi 
cians,  convalescents  and  wounded,  and  in  the 
midst  of  it  all  an  irruption  of  provost  guardsmen 
and  a  stir.  From  all  that  Norman  could  gather 
the  officials  had  reason  to  believe  that  some  man 
or  men  had  succeeded  in  getting  on  board  with 
out  the  necessary  papers,  and  every  one  in  the 
military  service  was  again  called  upon  to  show 
his  pass,  while  others  of  the  guard  ransacked  and 
rummaged  from  stem  to  stern  in  search  of  the 
suspected. 

Writing  was  impossible  for  the  moment,  and 
Norman  found  himself  curiously  watching  the 
work  of  these  martial  policemen.  There  were  two 
officers,  three  sergeants  and  a  dozen  soldiers,  all 
fully  armed  and  equipped,  busily  occupied  in  the 
after  cabin.  Men  had  been  stationed  at  each  door 
and  gangway  to  prevent  egress  or  ingress  during 
the  examination.  Others  were  opening  the  state 
rooms  and  requiring  occupants  to  come  out  into 
the  cabin.  Norman  had  his  papers  in  readiness 
when  the  captain  of  the  guard  accosted  him  and 
looked  them  briefly  over,  while  a  sergeant  entered 
the  name,  rank,  and  certain  other  information 
in  a  notebook.  Presently  the  captain  glanced  up 


ANOTHER  ARREST  231 

as  be  refolded  the  papers.  "But  you  are  not  in 
uniform,  sir,"  said  he. 

"I'm  only  just  commissioned,"  replied  Holt, 
with  something  akin  to  a  blush.  "Uniform  isn't 
finished." 

"Ah,  yes,"  was  the  answer;  "Lieutenant  Holt — 
Norman  Holt,  — th  Kentucky.  Mr.  Holt,  we  may 
have  to  invoke  your  aid  presently.  Your  name 
is  on  my  list  as  one  who  could  recognize  a  de 
serter  who  has  dodged  his  way  from  the  front; 
was  seen  in  town  yesterday,  and  is  thought 
to  be  aboard— one  Lane,  Company  "C,"  — th 
Ohio." 

What!  Theodore!  Daisy's  brother!  Aboard 
that  boat  in  mad,  harebrained  effort  to  escape 
and  reach  his  home!  Norman  felt  the  blood 
flying  to  his  heart.  What  new  complication  might 
not  this  portend?  Suppose  Theodore  should  be 
concealed  somewhere?  Suppose  he  should  appeal 
for  aid,  asking  for  Daisy's  sake  to  be  shielded — 
hidden  until  the  searching  party  left  the  boat? 
Desertion  meant  death,  and  he,  who  so  recently 
had  faced  the  firing  party  without  a  hope  of 
rescue,  knew  what  terror  it  would  bring  to  that 
weakling,  what  misery  to  those  who,  despite  his 
frailties,  loved  him — what  misery  it  would  bring 
to  her !  The  mother's  letter  had  made  no  mention 
of  the  wayward,  thoughtless,  brainless  boy.  Pos 
sibly  the  news  that  he  was  a  deserter  had  not 
yet  reached  the  family,  though  bad  news  travels 
fast.  Heaven  forbid  it  should  fall  to  Norman's 
lot  to  have  to  tell  the  tidings— to  be  brought  in 
contact  with  the  case  in  any  way !  As  a  private 


232  NORMAN  HOLT 

soldier  he,  possibly,  might  not  have  been  called 
upon  to  arrest  or  even  to  report  the  deserter. 
As  a  commissioned  officer  it  would  be  his  bounden 
duty.  God  forbid  that  the  reckless,  wretched  lad 
should  cross  his  path !  Nowhere  within  the  limits 
of  the  United  States  would  he  be  safe  from  arrest ; 
and  trial,  conviction,  and  sentence  must  surely 
follow.  The  sudden  pallor,  the  deep  concern  in 
Norman's  fine  young  face  caught  instantly  the 
eye  of  the  captain  of  the  guard. 

"You  know  him,  I  see.  Did  you  know  he  was 
a  deserter?"  was  the  quick,  sudden  question. 

4 'We  were  in  the  same  company,  and  his  captain 
wrote  me  a  few  days  since,"  was  the  guarded 
answer. 

"Have  you  seen  him?" 

"I  have  not." 

Across  the  crowded  cabin  a  sergeant  and  a 
private  soldier  stood  hammering  at  a  stateroom 
door.  From  within  a  weak  voice  was  uttering 
querulous  protest,  and  the  sergeant,  after  a  brief 
glance  within,  came  over  to  them. 

"A  sick  man's  in  there,  captain.  He's  in  his 
berth,  and  his  hospital  attendant's  ashore  to  get 
some  medicine  that  was  forgotten.  He's  an 
officer." 

"No.  29? — Yes,  Major  Payne,  wounded  in  cav 
alry  fight,  Cumberland  Forge,"  answered  the 
captain,  consulting  the  list  handed  him  a  few 
minutes  previous  by  the  steamer's  clerk.  "En 
route  to  Cincinnati.  Attendant,  Private  Maurice 
Turpin,  Company  'B,'  — th  Ohio,  convalescent 
from  general  hospital,  Louisville.  They're  all 


ANOTHER  ARREST  233 

right.  Don't  disturb  the  major,  but  hurry  up  the 
attendant.  Boat  leaves  in  ten  minutes. " 

Five  minutes,  six,  seven  passed  without  sign  of 
the  attendant.  The  guard  at  the  gangplank  re 
ported  that  no  such  man  had  come  aboard  since 
six  o'clock,  at  which  hour  Major  Payne  had  been 
carried  in  by  four  men  on  a  stretcher.  Dr.  Wren 
came  down  with  them  and  helped  to  get  the 
major  to  bed.  Three  of  the  men  went  back  to 
the  hospital  and  one  was  to  go  with  the  major 
to  Cincinnati.  He  might  have  gone  ashore.  They 
only  examined  those  coming  aboard.  Sentries 
posted  along  the  wharfboat  declared  no  man  had 
got  on  or  off  the  steamer  save  by  the  stageplank, 
the  main  entrance. 

" We'll  have  to  search  that  room,"  said  the 
officer,  and  again  No.  29  was  invaded.  With 
anxious  heart  Norman  saw  the  door  opened,  saw 
the  captain  enter,  baring  his  head  and  uttering 
apology.  In  a  moment  he  was  out  again.  "No 
body  there  except  the  major,  and  he  says  he 
don't  care  a  damn  if  the  attendant  doesn't  come 
— no  good  anyhow.  All  he  wants  is  to  be  let 
alone,"  quoth  the  captain,  and  Norman  breathed 
freer.  The  big  bell  was  booming  on  the  hurricane 
deck.  The  huge  paddle-wheels  were  slowly  churn 
ing  the  muddy  waters  as  the  hawsers  were  being 
cast  off.  The  provost  guard  scrambled  ashore, 
and  collided  with  a  young  soldier,  bundle-laden, 
who  created  a  commotion  by  declaring  he  was 
Major  Payne's  nurse  with  Major  Payne's  bundles, 
and  he  mustn't  be  left  behind.  A  relentless  officer 
demanded  his  pass,  and  the  soldier  jerked  his 


234  NORMAN  HOLT 

head  over  Ms  left  shoulder.  "He's  got  Jem,"  said 
he,  and  strove  to  push  ahead. 

"It's  all  right,  lieutenant,"  called  the  sergeant 
"Here  you — here's  yer  orders.  Shove  ahead  now." 
The  soldier  took  the  paper  in  his  teeth,  both 
arms  being  full,  and  aided  by  deck  hands,  pushed 
across  the  plank,  just  "trembling  on  the  rise," 
forced  a  way  through  the  crowd  on  the  lower 
deck,  climbed  the  brass-bound  stairs  to  the  bright 
ly-lighted  cabin,  and  bored  a  passage  through 
the  throng  until  he  came  to  the  door  of  No. 
29.  There  he  glanced  about  him  as  though  to 
ask  some  one  to  aid  him  by  opening  the  door. 
His  eyes  fell  on  Norman  Holt,  who  was  at  that 
moment  unfolding  and  spreading  a  newspaper. 
Down  went  the  bundles  with  sudden  crash. 
Down  dove  the  soldier  after  them,  and,  never 
straightening  up  or  looking  back,  he  thrust  open 
the  door,  shoved  the  packages  ahead  of  him 
over  the  sill,  scrambled  into  the  dimly-lighted 
state-room  and  kicked  shut  the  door  behind 
him. 

It  was  early  morn  when  the  steamer  tied  up  at 
the  foot  of  the  long,  sloping  levee  at  Cincinnati. 
Early  as  it  was,  Norman  was  awake  and  dressed, 
eager  to  get  ashore.  The  air  was  crisp  and  keen, 
the  sun  just  peering  over  the  eastward  hills  and 
glinting  on  the  bayonets  of  the  soldiers  at  the  land 
ing.  Even  here  the  provost  guard  was  in  evidence. 
An  officer  and  certain  men  were  aboard  before  the 
wheels  had  fairly  ceased  revolving,  and  darted 
up  the  stairway  without  a  glance  at  the  tall 
young  man  in  civilian  garb,  who,  with  valise 


ANOTHER  ARREST  235 

in  hand,  was  shoved  aside  in  their  rapid  rush. 
A  bath  and  breakfast  at  the  Burnet  House,  a 
visit  to  a  big  tailoring  establishment,  and  by  ten 
o'clock,  feeling  that  his  outer  man  was  decently 
clothed  again,  though  not  in  the  uniform  he 
so  impatiently  awaited,  Norman  Holt,  with  brisk, 
elastic  stride,  was  swiftly  nearing  the  house 
he  had  sought  so  often  with  beating  heart  and 
faltering  feet  in  days  of  doubt  that  preceded  the 
war.  Now,  virtually  exonerated,  a  commissioned 
officer  in  spite  of  secret  and  hostile  influences, 
a  gentleman  by  birth  and  lineage,  matured  and 
broadened  by  the  stirring  experience  of  his  eigh 
teen  months  of  campaigning,  he  dared  to  hope 
to  see  the  girl  he  loved ;  he  meant  to  ask  for  her 
no  matter  who  might  answer  the  bell,  for  he 
believed  from  Mrs.  Lane's  brief  letter  that  she 
herself  rarely  left  the  bedside  of  her  slowly  con 
valescing  husband. 

As  he  reached  the  little  bend  in  the  familiar 
old  street  and  the  bay  window  came  into  view, 
Norman  was  startled  to  see  a  number  of  idlers 
gathered  in  front,  staring  curiously  at  the  en 
trance,  where  stood  an  officer  with  two  armed 
soldiers.  The  bayonets  of  half  a  dozen  more 
gleamed  above  the  heads  of  the  little  throng. 
Street  urchins  came  running  from  east  and  west, 
and  Norman's  heart  sank  within  him.  What 
could  it  mean  but  that  they  were  there  in  search 
of  the  deserter — that  the  reckless,  witless  boy 
had  dared  to  make  his  way  to  the  old  home, 
had  been  tracked  and  followed?  The  officer 
and  his  immediate  companions  disappeared  be- 


236  NORMAN  HOLT 

fore  Norman  could  reach  them.  The  soldiers 
at  the  foot  of  the  steps  detained  him,  but  he  spoke 
authoritatively,  and  announced  himself  an  officer 
and  an  old  friend  of  the  family.  They  let  him 
pass,  and  bounding  up  the  steps  he  sprang  quickly 
across  the  hall  to  the  parlor,  where  voices  were 
heard,  and  there  came  upon  a  scene  that  haunted 
him  long  years  after. 

Sinking  back  upon  the  sofa,  livid  with  dread 
and  dismay,  Mrs.  Lane  was  staring  with  dis 
tended  eyes  into  the  troubled  face  of  an  elderly 
officer,  who  must  have  preceded  the  little  party 
into  the  house.  Behind  him  were  the  lieutenant 
and  the  two  members  of  the  guard.  Clinging 
to  her  mother's  hand,  trying  to  soothe  and  com 
fort,  stood  Daisy,  lovely  in  her  pallor,  in  her  dis 
tress  and  devotion. 

"It  can't  be  true,  mother  dear!  It  will  all  be 
explained.  Don't  be  frightened!" 

"Our  orders  are  imperative,  Mrs.  Lane,"  said 
the  elder  officer.  "I  regret  it  infinitely.  But  your 
son  was  recognized,  in  spite  of  his  disguise.  He 
was  followed  when  he  entered  here  an  hour  ago. 
We  must  search  every  nook  and  corner,  unless 
he  gives  himself  up.  Those  men  who  went  at 
once  to  the  upper  story  are  detectives " 

And  then  came  the  sound  of  scurry  and  rush 
above  stairs,  then  a  furious  outbreak  of  useless 
words.  A  cry  burst  from  the  mother's  lips. 
With  a  half-stifled  sob  of  "Father!  Oh,  don't 
let  him  hear !"  Daisy  sprang  to  the  doorway,  and 
there,  pale,  silent,  sorrowing,  stood  Norman  Holt. 
For  an  instant  the  terror,  the  agony  in  her  lovely 


ANOTHER  ARREST  387 

face  gave  way  to  swift  and  sudden  joy.  "Nor 
man!"  lie  heard  her  gasp,  and  with  outstretched 
hands  he  sprang  to  her,  but  as  suddenly  the 
gleam  of  gladness  fled  from  her  eyes.  As  sud 
denly  she  recoiled,  for  down  the  stairway  came 
two  silent  men  in  civilian  dress — they  of  the  secret 
service— and  between  them  a  storming,  furious, 
foolish  boy  railing  at  them,  at  the  government, 
at  the  army,  at  the  war.  With  a  wailing  cry, 
"My  boy!  my  boy!  What  will  they  do  to  you?" 
the  mother  rose  from  the  sofa  and  staggered 
toward  him,  when  his  eyes  fell  full  upon  Nor 
man,  standing  there  in  helpless  sympathy  and 
sorrow. 

"Yes,"  yelled  the  wretched  lad.  "I  might  have 
known  it !  Spit  on  him,  Daisy !  Curse  him,  mother ! 
They'd  never  have  got  me  in  God's  world  if  that 
snake  hadn't  seen  me— and  blabbed!" 


CHAPTER  XIX 
A  CALL  TO  BATTLE 

December,  and  the  new  commander  in  Kentucky, 
already  dubbed  "Old  Rosey,"  had  taken  up  the 
lines  where  Buell  dropped  them,  for  Bragg  had 
done  as  Buell  predicted  and  not  as  Halleck  would 
have  had  him.  On  Buell's  plans,  therefore,  and 
not  on  Halleck's,  the  army  gathered  about  Nash 
ville  while  Bragg  threatened  from  below.  There 
would  be  stirring  times  when  the  opposing  forces 
clashed,  and  all  good  men  and  true  were  needed 
at  their  posts.  Brief,  indeed,  and  far  from  happy 
was  Norman's  stay  in  Cincinnati.  The  doors  of 
the  Lane  homestead  were  closed  to  him.  His 
first  written  appeal  to  Mrs.  Lane,  assuring  her 
that  he  had  in  nowise  been  the  informant  in 
Theodore's  case,  was  returned  to  the  hotel  by  the 
hand  of  State  Senator  Malloy  at  an  hour  when 
Norman  was  certain  to  be  out,  with  a  brief,  curt 
note  to  the  effect  that  Mrs.  Lane  begged  to  be 
spared  further  communication  or  intrusion.  As 
the  result  of  the  fearful  shock  Major  Lane  had 
suffered  a  relapse. 

"The  arrest  of  a  thoughtless,  homesick  boy," 
declaimed  the  Senator,  in  the  resounding  lobby  of 
the  Burnet,  "as  a  criminal  and  a  deserter  is  a 
monstrous  revival  of  old  world  despotism  not  to 
be  tolerated  in  a  free  country,  and  a  government 


A  CALL  TO  BATTLE  239 

that  is  compelled  to  resort  to  such  methods  can 
never  survive  another  election,  if,  indeed,  it  doesn't 
bring  ruin  upon  itself  during  the  winter."  Evi 
dently  the  State  Senator  was  already  preparing 
the  "way  for  "the-war-is-a-failure"  party,  and  tak 
ing  his  cue  from  his  friend  and  political  file  leader, 
Vallandigham.  The  Senator  said  more.  He 
wondered  how  a  free  people  could  tolerate  in  their 
midst  a  contemptible  spy  and  informer,  a  fellow 
who,  snakelike,  could  strike  the  breast  that 
warmed  it,  and  bring  to  shame  and  misery  a 
household  wherein  he  had  for  years  received  the 
tenderest,  kindest  welcome.  What  did  the  men  of 
Cincinnati  think  of  a  cur  who  would  accept  the 
office  of  following  and  finally  running  down,  be 
fore  the  very  eyes  of  a  heart-broken  mother  and 
sister,  an  unhappy  boy,  whose  worst  crime  was 
homesickness  and  an  overwhelming  desire  to 
throw  himself  once  more  into  that  mother's 
arms  before  again  marching  forth  to  battle?  No 
-wonder  even  Malloy  was  breathless  before  he 
finished ! 

Norman  heard  of  it  speedily  enough,  went  at 
once  to  the  provost-marshal's  office,  and  obtained 
his  written  statement  to  the  effect  that  in  no  way 
whatsoever  had  that  young  officer  been  respon 
sible  for  the  arrest  of  the  deserter,  Lane.  It  was 
a  simple  matter.  The  paymaster  had  descended 
upon  McCook's  men  before  the  march  from  Crab 
Orchard  to  Bowling  Green.  Money  burns  in  the 
soldier's  pocket.  There  was  little  to  buy.  There 
was  little  to  do  but  gamble,  and  they  who  were 
experts  at  cards  won  easily  the  last  dollars  of 


240  NORMAN  HOLT 

the  innocents.  Theo  Lane  could  thumb  a  jack 
or  palm  an  ace  with  a  dexterity  that  amazed 
those  who  knew  what  a  fool  he  was  in  other 
respects,  and  that  at  first  baffled  his  victims.  He 
had  won  much  of  the  money  among  the  train 
guard  of  the  brigade  before  they  finally  became 
convinced;  then  bitter  was  the  wrath  against 
him  and  fearful  the  threats.  The  pathetic  home 
sickness  to  which  Malloy  made  reference  was 
nothing1  less  than  terror  of  tar  and  feathers. 
Theodore  skulked  out  of  the  camp  between  two 
suns  and  only  in  the  nick  of  time ;  bribed  his  way 
to  Louisville  and  to  haunts  he  had  discovered 
while  on  detached  service  at  department  head 
quarters.  There  he  lay  in  hiding  until,  by  the  aid 
of  a  former  soldier  pal,  named  Turpin,  whom  he 
knew  at  the  hospital,  he  saw  a  way  of  eluding 
guards  and  detectives  and  getting  on  to  Cincin. 
nati.  With  many  of  the  wounded  officers,  granted 
furlough  to  recuperate,  an  attendant  was  sent, 
and  Turpin,  who  was  of  Lane's  height,  weight, 
and  general  description,  to  wit:  eyes  blue,  hair 
light,  complexion  fair,  got  the  detail  to  go  with 
Major  Payne,  came  ashore  ostensibly  for  for 
gotten  medicines,  and  swapped  clothing  and 
papers  with  Lane  for  the  consideration  of  $25 
cash  in  hand.  Theodore  loaded  up  with  boxes 
and  bundles — some  containing  civilian  clothes  to 
don  aboard  the  boat— and  by  waiting  until  the 
last  minute  easily  succeeded  in  getting  aboard. 
Turpin  loaded  up  with  bottles— or  the  contents 
thereof— and  late  that  night  fell  into  the  clutches 
of  the  provost  guard,  where  he  was  speedily 


A  CALL  TO  BATTLE  241 

recognized.  Then  came  the  query,  "Who  went 
with  Major  Payne?"— a  telegram  to  Cincinnati, 
and  early  visit  of  the  provost  guard  at  that 
point  to  Payne's  stateroom  (to  that  stricken 
warrior's  profane  disgust)  and  a  demand  where 
was  his  attendant?  "Damn  the  attendant!'* 
snarled  the  major.  "He's  given  me  already  ten 
times  more  bother  than  benefit.  I  don't  know 
-where  he  is.  I  wish  he  was  in" — a  place  far,  far 
from  Cincinnati,  even  in  its  hottest  days — "and 
you,  too!"  They  found  the  attendant's  uniform 
and  learned  that  a  young  civilian  leaped  from 
the  "guards"  to  another  boat  as  they  squeezed 
in  at  the  landing.  The  secret-service  men  had 
been  on  lookout  for  just  such  a  dodge,  and  the 
young  fellow  in  new  clothing,  who  skulked  ashore 
half  a  block  above  the  Louisville  boat,  was  "shad 
owed"  to  the  paternal  roof,  a  watch  set,  the 
guard  sent  for,  and  the  deed  was  done.  Theodore 
Lane  was  a  prisoner  in  the  hands  of  the  military 
authorities,  and  poor  Daisy  was  ministering  to  a 
semi-hysterical  mother,  who  mingled  wild  words 
of  lamentation  for  her  boy  with  equally  wild 
imprecations  on  the  head  of  his  betrayer.  As  for 
the  major  above  stairs,  he  sent  first  for  Senator 
Malloy,  who  in  turn  sent  for  the  doctor. 

No.  It  was  no  deed  of  Norman  Holt's,  but 
what  woman  would  not  have  believed,  or  pro 
fessed  to  believe,  an  only  son  when  in  such  des 
perate  peril?  In  his  blind,  unreasoning  rage  and 
terror,  Theodore  had  hurled  his  accusation  just  as 
a  wounded  beast  -will  snap  at  the  ministering 
hand.  Possibly  he  thought  it  might  command 
16 


242  NORMAN  HOLT 

the  sympathy  of  his  guard,  and  prompt  them  to 
let  him  go.  Possibly  he,  for  the  moment  at  least, 
really  believed  it.  He  had  recognized  Holt  the 
instant  he  saw  him  in  the  cabin.  He  had  believed, 
as  the  night  wore  on  without  alarm  or  annoy, 
that  Holt  was  really  engrossed  in  the  paper,  and 
had  not  seen  him.  The  major,  his  charge,  queru 
lously  took  him  to  task  for  his  long  stay,  de 
manded  water  and  quiet,  and,  hardly  daring  to 
stir,  the  boy  had  sat  in  the  darkness  long  hours, 
trembling.  But  at  last  the  boat  seemed  wrapped 
in  slumber.  The  major,  at  least,  was  sound 
asleep,  and,  as  the  dawn  came  on,  Theo  noise 
lessly  slipped  out  of  uniform  and  into  the  civilian 
dress,  and,  as  they  neared  the  old  familiar  land 
ing,  let  himself  into  the  cabin  and  out  upon  the 
deck.  Home  he  must  go !  Almost  the  last  dollar 
of  his  ill-gotten  gains  was  spent.  "Your  friends 
must  get  you  to  Canada,  with  the  bank  cashiers 
and  the  'copperheads,7  "  was  what  his  Louisville 
pals  had  told  him.  Unless  Norman  Holt  had 
"blown"  upon  him,  he  believed  himself  unrecog 
nized,  unwatched.  The  street  was  deserted,  save 
for  a  dismal  cab,  when  he  tapped  at  the  base 
ment  door,  and  was  at  last  admitted  by  a  fright 
ened  domestic.  It  was  to  Daisy  he  first  confessed, 
in  part,  the  situation — that  he  had  run  away, 
after  having  been  refused  furlough  to  visit  them 
at  home,  after  having  been  most  cruelly  treated 
by  everybody.  She  must  get  him  money ;  he  must 
run  on  to  Canada  and  safety,  until  father  and 
Mr.  Malloy  could  "fix  things"  for  him.  In  be 
wilderment,  Daisy  bade  him  tell  his  mother  every- 


A  CALL  TO  BATTLE  243 

thing,  and  this  he  was  beginning  to  do,  when 
heavy  footfalls  and  shod  musket  butts  were 
heard  on  the  steps,  and  in  terror  he  darted  up 
the  stairs,  seeking  a  place  to  hide.  Then  came 
the  secret-service  men,  discovery  and  arrest. 

Norman  called  at  the  house  and  begged  to  speak 
with  Mrs.  Lane  or  Miss  Daisy.  Mrs.  Lane  was 
ill.  Miss  Lane  begged  to  be  excused.  Then  he 
wrote  to  Mrs.  Ray  at  Lexington,  briefly  telling 
of  his  presence  there,  of  Theodore's  sad  plight, 
and  of  his  unjust  accusation.  This  letter  he  sent 
by  a  young  officer  going  thither  at  once,  and  in 
less  than  thirty-six  hours  came  the  answer.  Mrs. 
Ray,  and,  if  possible,  Kate,  would  come  to  him 
without  delay.  He  wrote  to  Daisy  an  earnest, 
manly  letter,  protesting  against  his  being  judged 
unheard,  and  it  came  back  within  six  hours,  ap 
parently  unopened,  in  an  outer  envelope  addressed 
in  Malloy's  portentous  fist.  Had  it  come  to  this, 
that  the  politician  was  not  only  the  business  but 
the  domestic  dictator  of  the  Lanes? 

On  Thursday  came  Mrs.  Ray,  and,  with  her, 
Kate,  brave,  sympathetic  as  ever,  but  looking  so 
worn  and  tired  that  Norman  was  shocked.  To 
gether,  all  three,  they  went  to  the  Lanes'  and 
were  shown  into  the  parlor.  Presently  a  maid 
came  down  with  the  request  that  Mrs.  Ray  step 
upstairs.  The  same  maid  shortly  reappeared  with 
a  little  silver  tray,  a  decanter  of  sherry  wine,  and 
some  biscuit.  It  was  the  old,  kindly  fashion,  but 
there  was  nothing  further.  Kate,  often  a  visitor 
at  the  house,  followed  the  maid  into  the  dining- 
room  and  asked  if  Miss  Daisy  were  coming  down. 


NORMAN  HOLT 

The  reply  was  that  she  understood  Miss  Daisy 
could  not  leave  her  father's  bedside,  he  seemed  so 
feeble.  Kate  came  back  to  Norman  with  a 
troubled  face.  "We  saw  this  illness  coming  on 
him  in  Washington,"  said  she.  "He  was  dread 
fully  worried  over  your  trial  and  that  atrocious 
sentence.  He  was  a  comparative  stranger  to 
Judge  Holt,  but  we  had  long  known  him,  and 
went  to  the  Judge  at  once,  and  it  -was  he,  of 
course,  who  took  us  to  the  President " 

"It  was  you  who  saved  me?"  interrupted  Nor 
man,  as  he  seized  her  hands,  and  raised  them  to 
his  lips.  "The  time  will  come  when  Henry  will 
thank  and  bless  you  when  he  knows  all." 

A  faint  flush  stole  into  her  pale,  serious  face, 
but  quickly  faded  away. 

"We  went  instantly,  of  course,"  said  she,  "but 
it  was  Major  Lane  who  telegraphed  us  to  come 
if  we  would  save  you.  We  couldn't  believe  the 
story  was  true!  Mrs.  Enyart,"  and  here  there 
were  symptoms  of  another  flush,  "or  rather  the 
captain,  had  written  that  you  would  never  be 
ordered— shot,  even  if  so  sentenced.  But  Major 
Lane  knew  the  War  Secretary  and  the  situation. 
He  got  telegraphic  news  from  Nashville  and  strove 
hard  with  Stanton,  who  refused  to  listen,  and 
forbade  his  going  to  the  President.  The  major 
took  to  his  bed  the  day  after  we  got  there. 
Judge  Holt  took  us  to  the  White  House.  It 
was  a  dreadful  time,  you  know.  Lee  had  pun 
ished  us  so  at  Antietam  and  got  back  to  Virginia, 
and  Mr.  Lincoln  looked  utterly  worn  out  and 
broken,  but  you  should  have  seen  his  eyes  fill  as 


A  CALL  TO  BATTLE  345 

mother  told  him  your  story,  and  then  the  quaint, 
sad  smile  as  he  told  us  one  of  his.  Then  the 
Judge  led  us  away  and  it  was  all  over.  The 
order  was  telegraphed  direct,  and  mother  sent 
me  to  tell  Major  Lane,  lying  ill  at  Willard's,  and 
there  were  Daisy  and  Mrs.  Lane  just  arrived,  and 
Daisy  clung  to  me  and  sobbed  with  joy,  Norman, 
then  ran  to  tell  her  father." 

"And  now  will  neither  see  nor  hear  me,"  an 
swered  Norman.  '  'But— God  bless  you,  Kate— 
sister!"  and  again  he  raised  the  slim,  soft,  white 
hand  to  his  lips  and  looked  into  her  brimming 
eyes,  and  neither  of  them  heard  the  light  step  on 
the  stairs;  neither  saw  the  slender  form  that 
paused  at  the  doorway,  then  turned  and  vanished. 

A  moment  later,  as  Kate  arose  to  send  again 
a  message  by  the  maid,  the  same  light  step  was 
this  time  heard  in  the  hallway,  and  with  white, 
wan  face,  with  but  the  ghost  of  a  smile,  Daisy 
entered,  went  straight  to  Kate's  extended  arms 
and  kissed  her.  "Will  you  come  upstairs  to 
mother,  just  a  minute?"  said  she;  then  turned, 
barely  glancing  at  the  young  soldier  who  had 
come  so  eagerly  forward:  "Will  you  be  good 
enough  to  take  charge  of  this,  Mr.  Holt?"  -were 
the  cold  words  that  greeted  him,  "and  to  excuse 
us,"  then  led  her  companion  to  the  door. 

"Wait  for  me,  Norman,  won't  you?"  pleaded 
Kate,  with  reproachful  glance  at  Daisy,  with 
eager  sympathy  for  him.  "I  shall  be  down  in  a 
moment." 

Without  so  much  as  a  flitting  glance  the  girl 
had  handed  him  an  oblong  packet.  For  a  mo- 


246  NORMAN  HOLT 

ment  he  stood  gazing  dumbly  after  her,  then  took 
it  to  the  light.  It  was  addressed  in  her  hand  to 
Lieutenant  N.  M.  Holt,  — th  Kentucky  Volun 
teers,  Burnet  House,  and  eagerly  he  tore  it  open. 
Within  was  a  little  note  and  a  check  for  three 
hundred  dollars.  In  wonderment  he  read: 

"My  father  is  too  ill  to  be  able  to  attend  to  business,  and 
yet,  despite  our  grief  and  distress  and  mother's  prostration 
on  my  brother's  account,  he  insists  on  attempting  to  attend 
to  the  affairs  concerning  which  you  wrote  him.  Both  the 
doctor  and  his  business  partner  have  objected  so  strenuously 
that  he  is  persuaded  not  to  leave  his  bed,  but  he  bids  me  as 
sure  you  that  the  moment  he  is  able  to  be  about  the  mat 
ter  shall  have  his  best  attention,  and  meantime  he  begs  that 
you  will  use  the  enclosed  check,  which  will  be  duly  charged 
to  your  account.  Under  the  circumstances  a  personal  inter 
view  is  impossible,  and  we  are  constrained  to  ask  that  you 
excuse  us.  MARGARET  LANSING  LANE." 

Stunned  and  hard  hit,  Norman  Holt  strode 
forth  into  the  frosty  air  and  made  straight  for 
the  hotel.  There  he  found  telegrams  and  packages 
awaiting  him,  but,  before  opening  one,  he  in 
dorsed  that  offending  check  to  the  order  of  the 
original  signer  and  placed  it,  with  just  six  lines, 
in  an  envelope  addressed  to  Miss  Lane.  Then  he 
opened  the  first  of  two  brown  envelopes. 

"Stunning  sword,  sash  and  belt  awaiting  you  here  from 
Emmets,  also  uniform.  (Signed)  "ENYART." 

The  second  must  have  been  "censored,"  for 
words  were  missing.  It  came  by  military  tele 
graph  from  Nashville.  It  read  oddly  enough,  and 
had  been  apparently  opened  and  re-sent  from 
Louisville. 


A  CALL  TO  BATTLE  247 

"Business , lively.  Staff  appointment  awaits  you." 

It  was  signed  by  Sheridan's  little  inspector-gen 
eral,  Ransom. 

With  almost  feverish  eagerness  he  read  them 
again.  Then  he  bounded  down-stairs  to  the 
office.  He  knew  well  enough  what  the  last  one 
meant.  "Battle  imminent.  Come  at  once!"  And 
within  two  hours  he  had  caught  the  train,  leaving 
only  a  brief,  grateful  missive  for  Kate  Ray,  to 
whom  he  entrusted  the  note  for  Margaret,  and 
by  the  old  roundabout  Seymour  (Indiana)  line 
he  was  jarring  back  to  Louisville. 


CHAPTER  XX 
THE  ROUT  OF  THE  RIGHT  WING 

January,  1863,  and  never  since  the  union  of 
states  was  born  did  New  Year's  Day  open  to 
heavier  hearts  among  Union-loving  men — never 
sounded  the  old-time,  glad,  though  conventional, 
greeting,  ' 'Happy  New  Year!"  more  like  bitter 
mockery.  In  the  East  the  Army  of  the  Potomac 
had  been  hurled  back  from  the  heights  of  Freder- 
icksburg,  leaving  by  hundreds  its  dead  upon  the 
frozen  fields.  In  the  West  the  old  Army  of  the 
Ohio— the  new  Army  of  the  Cumberland— had 
grappled  just  the  day  before  the  last  of  the  old 
year  with  Bragg's  veterans  at  Murfreesboro',  and 
when  the  last  sun  of  '62  sank  to  rest  behind  the 
cedars  of  that  now  historic  plain,  McCook  and 
Sheridan— they  who  fought  so  hard  at  Perry ville 
two  months  before— and  Johnson  and  Davis  had 
been  rolled  up,  crushed  together,  pounded  and 
driven  until  rallied  and  finally  re-formed  under  the 
wing  of  Thomas,  calm,  stern,  steadfast  amid  the 
storm.  Gallant  Sill  had  gone  down  leading  his 
old  brigade  in  daring,  yet  fruitless,  charge.  Kirk 
and  Willich,  who  held  the  far  right,  -were  sacrificed, 
Kirk  dying,  Willich  a  captive.  A  shell  had  carried 
off  the  head  of  Garesche,  brilliant  chief  of  staff, 
and  something  had  carried  certain  generals  off 
their  feet,  for  more  than  one  came  clamoring  to 


THE  ROUT  OF  THE  RIGHT  WING 

resolute  "Old  Rosey"  urging  that  lie  abandon  tne 
field,  fall  back  to  the  intrenchments  of  Nashville 
and  call  for  re-enforcements.  Not  he.  The  new 
commander  was  a  lion  in  the  fight.  The  men 
saw  and  realized  his  valor,  and  took  courage 
from  his  superb  determination.  "We'll  win  or  die 
right  here!"  was  the  word,  and  win  it  was,  for 
Bragg  had  reached  the  limit.  Three  days  later 
he  was  in  full,  though  orderly,  retreat,  leaving 
hundreds  of  wounded  to  the  mercy  of  the  enemy, 
and  the  Army  of  the  Cumberland  moved  in  and 
took  possession  and  fell  to  binding  up  its  'wounds 
and  those  of  more  than  two  thousand  crippled 
Confederates,  whose  commanders  made  up  in  deep 
sagacity  what  th^y  might  lack  in  sentiment.  It 
lessened  their  burden  to  leave  to  the  North  the 
care  of  the  Southern  wounded ;  besides,  the  North 
could  do  it  so  much  better. 

A  sad  and  almost  hopeless  holiday  was  that  of 
January  1  for  Union  lovers  North  and  South — sad 
as  the  Christmas  just  gone  by  had  seemed  to  those 
who  lingered  still  at  Belle  view,  recalling  the  fes 
tivities  of  two  years  agone  and  comparing  them 
with  the  desolation  of  to-day.  But  the  North 
had  not  yet  begun  to  know  the  staying  power  of 
its  sons.  The  South,  perhaps,  was  first  to  learn 
it. 

There  came  a  period  of  comparative  inaction 
after  the  midwinter  battle  in  the  mud  and  rain. 
Damages  had  to  be  repaired,  supplies  renewed, 
big  gaps  filled  in  the  ranks  of  both  armies,  but  in 
one  division  at  least  there  was  no  lack  of  incident 
and  excitement.  Sheridan's  men  had  much  to 


960  NORMAN  HOLT 

talk  about,  and  as  for  the  Buckeyes,  from  whose 
muster-rolls  the  name  of  Norman  Holt  had  been 
dropped,  to  accept  promotion  on  October  31,  they, 
the  old  regiment,  were  in  a  ferment,  and  Gaffney 
and  the  Emmets  in  their  glory. 

It  all  came  about  in  this  way:  The  brigade 
had  been  hard  hit  early  in  the  first  day's  fight. 
The  line  zigzagged  through  the  cedars,  Sheridan 
facing  nearly  east,  Davis,  his  next-door  neighbor 
to  the  right,  facing  south,  and  Johnson,  farther 
south  yet,  far  out-lapped  by  the  Southern  line, 
facing  every  which  way.  Sill,  the  noble  soldier 
whom  the  Second  Division  so  well  knew  and 
trusted,  had  had  to  fall  back  to  the  command  of  a 
brigade,  thanks  to  the  coming  of  a  general  whose 
star  had  risen  a  few  days  earlier.  It  was  good 
for  the  brigade,  but  bad  for  the  rest  of  the  right, 
wing.  Swinging  clear  around  them  from  the 
south  and  west  and  enfilading  them  to  the  east, 
the  gray  divisions  of  McCown,  Cleburne,  and 
Withers,  with  Norman  Holt's  old  West  Point 
commandant,  Hardee,  at  their  head,  bore  down 
on  Johnson's  scattered  brigades  soon  after  sun 
up,  and  crushed  them  out  of  existence.  Then 
Davis,  commanding  the  next  division,  with  every 
thing  gone  on  his  right,  found  himself  engulfed 
and  swept  onward  with  the  tide.  And  so  two- 
thirds  of  McCook's  corps,  the  right  wing,  was 
washed  away  when  Sheridan  made  his  valiant 
effort  to  change  front  and  stem  the  torrent.  It 
is  no  easy  thing  to  change  front  forward  under 
heavy  fire,  but  it  is  a  bagatelle  compared  with  a 
change  of  front  to  the  rear.  In  the  first  case  the 


THE  ROUT  OF  THE  RIGHT  WING  251 

men  are  stimulated  by  the  consciousness  of  ad 
vance,  of  gaining  on  the  enemy;  in  the  second 
they  are  depressed  by  the  appearance  of  retreat. 
Once  started,  with  their  backs  to  the  foe,  only 
men  of  exceptional  valor  or  veterans  of  a  score  of 
battles  can  be  readily  halted  on  a  new  line  and 
faced  about  to  meet  a  charging,  yelling  host. 
God  knows  the  South  could  charge  and  yell,  and, 
charging  and  yelling  both,  in  overwhelming  onset, 
a  leaping,  bounding,  fire-spitting  gray  torrent, 
Hardee's  division  burst  through  the  clumps  of 
cedar  and  swarmed  on  Sheridan.  And  right  in 
the  midst  of  it  all,  their  plucky  colonel  wounded 
and  carried  from  the  field,  an  inaudible,  unimpres 
sive  major  in  command,  the  Buckeyes  came  floun 
dering  through  the  mud  of  a  shallow  ravine  and 
pressing  toward  the  center,  where  the  dripping, 
drooping  colors  still  waved.  Individually  they 
were  turning  about  from  time  to  time,  re 
loading  on  the  move—a  nasty  thing  to  do  on  a 
wet  day  with  a  "long  Tom"  muzzle-loader  and  a 
flimsy  paper  cartridge—then  firing  vaguely  at  the 
fast-following  gray  cloud,  through  which  the  little 
red  battle-flags  were  peeping.  The  left  brigade 
of  the  stanch  division  had  halted,  faced  about, 
and  quickly  readjusted  its  line,  general  and  col 
onels  galloping  to  and  fro  and  shouting  caution 
and  encouragement — Sheridan  himself,  fierce,  furi 
ous,  and  brimming  over  with  fight  and  energy, 
pointing  out  the  new  line,  and  then  the  coming 
foe.  But  the  next  brigade  and  the  next,  farther 
out  among  the  misty,  dripping  cedars,  were 
catching  it  hot  and  heavy  as  they  swung  round 


252  NORMAN  HOLT 

northward.  Far  out  on  the  right  flank,  beyond 
them,  everything  seemed  gone  to  pieces,  for  the 
exultant  yells  of  the  charging  "rebs"  could  be 
heard  between  them  and  the  reserves.  No  soldier, 
old  or  new,  is  happy  when  outflanked.  Small 
wonder  that  the  outermost  regiments  came  in  on 
the  run,  and  on  the  flank  of  the  Second  Brigade 
were  the  Buckeyes.  Aids  and  staff  officers,  hoarse 
ly  shouting,  strove  to  make  them  understand  that 
here  was  the  place  to  halt,  whirl  about,  and  dress 
to  the  left.  They  had  cleared—' 'unmasked,"  as 
the  military  expression  is — the  right  regiment  of 
the  brigade  already  in  its  new  position,  and  furi 
ously  it  opened  on  the  advancing  line.  Kentucky 
was  sending  its  compliments  straight  into  the 
faces  of  Pat  Cleburne's  lads  from  the  far  South. 
Now  was  the  time  for  the  Buckeyes  to  halt  and 
do  likewise :  but  something  was  sore  amiss ;  either 
they  couldn't  or  they  wouldn't  hear,  and  to  the 
wrath  of  their  brigadier— himself  the  colonel  of  a 
rival  regiment— and  in  spite  of  the  efforts  of  some 
new  company  commanders,  and  the  mingled 
threats,  prayers,  and  profanity  of  good  old  Gaff- 
ney,  acting  major,  and  to  the  amaze  of  Sheridan, 
just  riding  thither  from  the  left  of  his  line,  the 
Buckeyes  were  beginning  to  break  for  the  belt  of 
timber  three  hundred  yards  too  far  to  the  rear, 
and  then— who  could  save  the  left? 

Then,  then  came  the  thing  that  kept  the  divis 
ion  in  talk  for  a  month!  Out  from  the  rear  of 
the  Kentucky  right  wing  sprang  a  tall,  slender 
lieutenant,  his  new  uniform  dripping  wet,  his 
sash,  belt,  and  sword  spick-span  and  gleaming, 


STRAIGHT   FOR   THE    SCATTERING    RANKS    HE    HEADED. 

Page  2JJ 


THE  ROUT  OF  THE  RIGHT  WING  253 

his  dark  eyes  flashing,  his  cheeks  aflame.  A  word 
to  the  major,  as  he  pointed  to  the  disintegrating 
blue  battalion  beyond  them,  a  nod  from  that 
appreciative  fellow-Kentuckian,  and  the  junior 
had  sprung  into  the  vacated  saddle,  and  away 
sped  a  startled,  astonished,  excited  steed  under 
the  hand  of  a  practiced  horseman.  Straight  for 
the  scattering,  stooping,  half  "rattled"  ranks  he 
darted,  heading  them  as  a  skillful  cowboy  heads 
stampeding  cattle.  In  an  instant  he  was  among 
them,  his  new  blade  flashing  even  through  the 
rain,  his  voice  ringing  out  above  the  clash  and 
clamor  of  battle.  Vehemently  he  drove  his  horse 
into  the  very  faces  of  the  foremost,  and  a  sudden 
cheer  went  up  at  sight  of  him,  for  those  on  the 
right  were  the  Emmets  themselves,  and  he  in 
saddle  was  the  lad  they  loved. 

"Halt  where  you  are,  men!  Halt,  instantly! 
Face  about,  there!  That's  right,  ScarclifFe,  face 
'em  about!  Face  about,  all  of  you.  Dress  to 
your  left  now!  Who's  in  command  here?  Hur 
rah!  GafFney,  old  man!  Now  we've  got  'em! 
Halt  that  next  company !  Halt  right  there,  men ! 
Face  'em  about,  captain.  Dress  to  the  left !  Dress 
on  C!"  Up  went  another  cheer,  for  the  ninth 
company  knew  him  almost  as  did  the  Emmets, 
and,  though  men  were  dropping  here  and  there 
along  the  new  front,  with  these  two  companies 
steadied  and  brought  to  bay,  the  battalion  had 
a  shoulder  to  lean  on.  But  the  lieutenant  would 
take  no  chances.  This  was  no  second  day  at 
Shiloh,  with  a  worn-out,  disheartened  foe  in  front. 
Flushed  with  triumph  and  gloriously  led,  the 


254  NORMAN  HOLT 

Southern  line  came  pressing  on.  It  took  nerve 
and  force.  It  demanded  every  soldierly  gift  officer 
or  man  could  muster  to  stand  firm  against  that 
superb  assault.  But,  company  after  company, 
the  Buckeyes  pulled  up  at  sound  of  those  com 
manding  tones,  at  sight  of  that  tall,  daring,  dash 
ing  rider  on  the  foaming  horse.  Pull  up  they  had 
to  or  be  ridden  down.  The  major  trotted  over 
to  him  and  rode  alongside,  marveling  at  the  scope 
and  power  of  that  ringing  voice,  envying  the  vim 
and  magnetism  of  the  soldier  presence,  thanking 
God  for  it  all  and  the  Buckeyes'  return  to  reason. 
And  then,  when  the  last  company,  far  at  the  ex 
treme  flank,  had  brought  up  standing  and  refaced 
the  foe,  and  the  lightning  leaped  in  sudden  flash 
and  the  thunder  rolled  from  wing  to  wing,  fring 
ing  the  long  front  in  battle  smoke,  and  proclaim 
ing  that  "the  flag  was  still  there,"  back  along 
the  rear  of  the  rallied  line  rode  the  young  hero  of 
the  day,  almost  pulled  from  saddle  by  Gaffney's 
grasping,  straining  hand,  cheered  like  mad  by  the 
exulting  Emmets,  and  -welcomed  by  the  snapping- 
eyed,  rejoicing,  delighted  division  commander, 
with  the  high-pitched  tenor  he  first  heard  that 
solemn  May  day  six  months  before — "By  God, 
Mr.  Holt,  but  that  was  beautiful!" 

And  yet  the  division  had  to  go.  Left  to  itself, 
there  could  have  been  no  hope  or  help  for  it.  But 
when  at  last  the  fateful  day  was  over  and  the 
hard-hammered  right  wing  curved  round  the  gen 
eral  headquarters  close  to  the  Nashville  pike, 
while  Rousseau,  Negley,  and  Van  Cleve,  under  the 
masterful  eye  of  Thomas,  held  fast  in  front  of  the 


THE  ROUT  OP  THE  RIGHT  WING  255 

Confederate  right,  men  of  the  three  brigades  that 
battled  under  Sheridan  were  chatting,  despite  sore 
fatigue,  over  that  stirring  incident  of  the  day. 
Of  course,  as  the  Buckeyes  told  it,  they  had  no 
notion  of  passing  the  new  line.  They  simply 
couldn't  see  it  through  the  rain  and  low-hanging 
smoke,  but  the  moment  Lieutenant  Holt  came 
along  they  knew  where  they  ' 'were  at,"  and  acted 
accordingly.  But  the  Kentuckians  and  certain 
generals  and  colonels  and  a  major  in  temporary 
command,  and  old  GafFney,  too,  knew  far  better. 
They  were  on  the  verge  of  a  panic,  when  halted 
in  the  nick  of  time. 

And  now,  with  GafFney  acting  major,  how  came 
it  that  ScarclifFe,  not  Malloy,  had  commanded 
Company  "C,"  and  where  was  Mr.  Malloy?  The 
answer  was  a  laugh.  Colonel  Pride  had  sent  the 
adjutant  back  to  the  train  to  bring  up  certain 
regimental  books  and  papers  that  were  bound  to 
be  needed  the  last  day  of  the  last  quarter  of  the 
year,  and  had  detailed  Malloy  to  act  in  his  stead. 
Early  in  the  morning  Pride  had  got  a  serious 
wound,  so  serious  he  was  ordered  at  once  to 
field  hospital,  and  Malloy  conceived  it  his  duty  to 
go  with  him;  nor  had  he  rejoined  up  to  8  P.M., 
nor  did  he  rejoin  until  the  colonel  had  twice  told 
him  to  do  so  without  further  delay—but  that,  of 
course,  Malloy  did  not  mention. 

Now,  when  men  have  had  to  fight  as  fought  the 
divisions  of  Sheridan,  Davis,  and  Negley  that 
gloomy  day,  they  take  it  ill  that  any  able-bodied 
comrade  fail  to  do  his  share.  There  had  been  a 
time  when  Negley's  men  and  Sheridan's  stood 


256  NORMAN  HOLT 

almost  back  to  back,  so  completely  were  they 
hemmed  in  by  Hardee's  encircling  line.  It  was 
bitter  to  have  to  leave  so  many  gallant  dead,  so 
many  precious  cannon,  to  swell  the  triumph  of 
the  South.  But  with  horses  shot  down  by  bat 
tery  there  were  not  men  enough  left  to  drag 
artillery  by  hand  through  those  narrow  wood 
lanes,  and  at  the  same  time  "stand  off"  the 
swarming  enemy.  Sheridan's  men  had  fought 
superbly,  had  suffered  sorely,  and  were  savage 
in  spirit  when  the  bloody  day  was  done.  There 
was  no  welcome  for  Malloy,  when  at  last  he 
found  the  Emmets.  Gallant  little  Scarcliffe  had 
been  shot  dead  in  the  grapple  at  the  "Round 
Forest."  Gaffney,  despite  a  bullet-hole  through 
the  left  hand,  was  ministering  to  the  needs  of  a 
dozen  of  his  beloved  "byes,"  and  keening  to  him- 
self  over  the  loss  of  some  of  their  best  and 
bravest. 

"Where  were  you  all  day,  young  man?"  said 
he,  glowering,  ward  politics — "infloo'nce" — aspira 
tions,  all  forgotten  in  the  contemplation  of  the 
scene  about  him.  "Taking  care  of  the  colonel  till 
the  surgeon  took  him,  is  it?  Bedad,  that's  not 
what  you're  here  for !  You  reshume  command  of 
thie  company  now,  and  don't  lave  it  again.  The 
adjutant's  back  and  you're  wanted  here." 

Malloy's  excuse  carried  no  weight  among  the 
men.  They  jeered  when  they  heard  of  it.  The 
major  succeeding  to  the  command  had  no  word 
of  greeting  for  him.  Brother  officers  cold-shoul 
dered  him  in  some  cases — some,  too,  even  when  it 
was  known  he  had  thoughtfully  brought  forward 


THE  ROUT  OF  THE  RIGHT  WINS  257 

a  demijohn  of  rye,  for  there  were  men  that  night 
who  would  have  given  a  month's  pay  for  one 
good  drink. 

In  the  few  days  that  followed— the  early  days 
of  January,— it  was  the  center  and  left  that  took 
up  the  burden  of  the  battling,  and  Bragg  beat  at 
them  in  vain.  The  right  wing  rested,  and  re 
organized,  and  then,  when  men  were  well  filled 
again,  and  had  had  time  to  sleep  off  their  fatigue, 
officers  began  strolling  about  from  battalion  to 
battalion,  from  brigade  to  brigade,  and  by  dozens 
they  drifted  to  the  campfires  of  the  Kentuckians, 
and  looked  up  Norman  Holt.  To  think  that  the 
man  the  State  had  refused  to  own,  to  recognize, 
or  commission,  should  be  the  man  to  rally  the 
Buckeyes  in  the  midst  of  the  fight !  What  would 
be  said  to  this  in  Columbus  and  Cincinnati  when 
finally  published,  as  sooner  or  later  it  would  be? 
Every  man  knew  that  Sheridan's  report  extolled 
the  conduct  of  Lieutenant  Norman  Holt  as  some 
thing  beyond  praise.  Every  man  had  heard  that 
the  dashing  little  division  commander  had  offered 
Holt  a  billet  on  his  staff,  and  the  young  officer 
had  thanked  him,  blushingly,  but  begged  to  be 
permitted  to  serve  with  his  regiment,  where  al 
ready,  officers  and  men,  they  swore  by  him.  And 
this  was  he  whom  a  court  had  sentenced  and  a 
General  ordered  shot.  By  more  than  one  voice, 
over  and  over  again,  was  echoed  the  chaplain's 
cry:  "God  bless  Abraham  Lincoln!" 

Some  ten  days  after  the  battle  came  orders 
down  through  military  channels  giving  the  Em 
mets  to  know  that  a  general  court-martial  was 
17 


258  NORMAN  HOLT 

to  convene  at  once  for  the  trial  of  such  prisoners 
as  might  properly  be  brought  before  it,  one  of 
whom  was  Private  Theodore  Lane,  Company  "C," 
— th  Ohio,  on  the  grave  charge  of  desertion. 

To  summon  and  transport  witnesses  from  the 
extreme  front  to  Louisville  or  even  to  Nashville 
was  far  more  troublesome  and  expensive  than  to 
ship  the  accused  straight  to  the  field,  where,  if 
found  guilty,  he  could  be  punished  in  presence  of 
the  army.  No  doubt  there  were  good  soldiers 
left  among  the  Emmets  who  would  gladly  have 
had  it  the  other  way,  for  the  "byes"  throughout 
the  Army  of  the  Cumberland  were  living  on  half- 
rations  now,  the  Confederate  cavalry,  which  far 
outnumbered  the  Northern  horse,  being  already 
up  to  the  old  tricks  of  wrecking  the  old  railway 
that  supplied  them. 

The  court  would  meet  in  Murfreesboro',  on  the 
12th  of  January,  on  which  date  Captain  Gaffney, 
Sergeants  Shannon  and  Hogan,  with  several  sol 
diers  who  'were  of  the  guard  of  the  wagon  train, 
were  directed  to  be  present.  It  was  an  occasion 
the  gallant  captain  looked  forward  to  with  senti 
ments  of  lively  anticipation.  It  had  leaked  out 
in  some  way  that  Lieutenant  Malloy  was  to  ap 
pear  as  counsel  for  the  prisoner,  that  he  had  vol 
unteered  for  the  purpose,  and  on  being  interro 
gated  Mr.  Malloy  said  it  was  so.  GafFney  went 
wild  with  Celtic  delight.  "Can  ye  get  away, 
meejor?"  he  demanded  excitedly  of  the  temporary 
commander.  "Will  ye  come  over  wid  me?  Shure, 
wid  the  brigades  so  far  apart  there's  been  no 
way  for  it  yet,  but  Holt,  too,  must  be  there! 


THE  ROUT  OF  THE  RIGHT  WING  259 

Malloy's  got  to  meet  him,  and  then  ye'll  see 
spa-arks!" 

Oh,  bitter  was  Gaffney's  disappointment!  The 
trial  of  Private  Lane,  announced  for  the  12th, 
failed  to  come  off  on  that  date — was  unavoidably, 
indefinitely  postponed.  The  train  bearing  that 
valuable  young  soldier  and  several  other  scape 
graces  drove  straight  into  the  welcoming  arms 
of  Joe  Wheeler's  raiding  dragoons  at  the  north 
of  Nashville,  and  guards,  prisoners,  and  supplies 
were  whisked  off  into  Dixie.  Gaffney  groaned  in 
genuine  distress  of  mind.  "I  promised  Holt  he 
should  pull  the  nose  of  him,"  said  he,  "and  the 
Lord  come  betune  them  in  the  shape  of  a  seecesh 
raid.  Malloy  has  the  luck  av  a  Limerick  lawyer !" 

But,  as  Mr.  Oakhurst  remarked,  the  one  sure 
thing  about  luck  is  it's  bound  to  change. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  CUT  DIRECT 

And  many  a  change  did  that  dread  mid-winter 
battle  make  in  the  Army  of  the  Cumberland.  To 
begin  with,  in  recognition  of  its  sufferings  and 
its  stalwart  fighting,  its  divisions  were  expanded 
into  three  corps  d'arm6e,  with  the  senior  Major- 
General  to  command  in  each.  Heavy  re-enforce 
ments  were  ordered.  Many  a  new  regiment  ap 
peared  in  the  old  brigades,  many  a  new  face  in 
the  old  regiments,  many  officers  who  had  won 
enviable  distinction  were  promoted,  and  a  few, 
whose  distinction  had  been  unenviable,  were  per 
mitted  to  resign.  But  to  the  amaze,  the  wrath, 
of  the  Buckeyes,  their  one  officer  to  quit  the  field 
unwounded  early  in  the  day  and  to  return  no 
more  until  the  bloody  work  was  done,  was  her 
alded  in  two  home  papers  as  the  hero  of  the 
fight— ''the  gallant  adjutant  who,  bearing  his 
wounded  colonel  in  his  arms,  hew,-'"  his  way 
through  swarming  foes  to  a  place  of  safety." 

Even  the  rank  absurdity  of  the  statement — the 
impossibility  of  the  feat  described  in  the  great 
journal  (which  was  more  than  half  owned,  as 
was  understood,  by  Senator  Malloy)— did  not  rob 
it  of  certain  effect  among  the  masses.  It  paved 
the  "way  for  the  next  move.  Lieutenant  Burnett 
Malloy  was  summoned  home  to  assist  in  the 


THE  CUT  DIRECT 

organization  of  a  new  regiment,  in  which  he  was 
appointed  major.  The  first  lieutenant  of  the 
Emmets  was  safely  out  of  camp  and  into  town 
before  the  Buckeyes  got  the  news.  Gaffney's  rage 
bordered  on  the  grotesque.  "I'll  go  to  Shurd'n 
an'  protest,"  said  he,  and  so  he  did,  and  others 
with  him,  but  the  little  General  had  vexations  of 
his  own,  and  put  the  case  point-blank.  "Protest! 
What's  the  use  of  protesting?  The  thing's  done!" 
said  he.  "If  Malloy  is  all  you  say  he  was,  why 
the  devil  didn't  you  prefer  charges  against  him? 
Then  I  could  have  had  him  court-martialed.  Now 
Ohio  has  made  him  a  major." 

"And  to  think,"  moaned  Gaffney,  "Holt  niver 
yet  pulled  the  nose  av  him,  as  he  promised— or  as 
I  promised  for  him,  which  is  the  same  thing." 
Yes,  Malloy's  orders  had  come  by  wire.  Even 
"Old  Rosey"  could  not  interpose,  and  all  the  hard 
swearing  of  bluff  McCook  and  a  host  of  other 
hard-fighting  Buckeyes  came  too  late.  In  war,  as 
in  peace,  a  friend  at  court  is  worth  a  hundred  afield. 

But  away  over  across  the  river,  in  the  camp  of 
another  brigade,  there  was  less  to  swear  about. 
The  — th  Kentucky  had  lost  heavily  in  the  sharp 
fighting  of  the  first  day,  the  last  of  '62,  but  its 
senior  captain  took  the  leaves  of  the  major  who 
had  fallen ;  three  lieutenants,  the  adjutant  among 
them,  stepped  up  to  the  double  bars,  and  the 
colonel  turned  to  Norman  Holt  and  tendered  him 
the  adjutancy.  Gravely,  yet  gratefully,  the  young 
soldier  accepted.  His  whole  soul  was  in  his  work. 
Duty,  and  duty  alone,  seemed  the  dominant 
thought.  Men  marveled  at  his  ceaseless,  restless 


262  NORMAN  HOLT 

energy.  There  had  come  a  lull  in  the  conduct  of 
the  war.  Bragg  went  into  winter  quarters  about 
Tullahoma.  The  Army  of  the  Cumberland  strove 
to  keep  up  a  bold  array  on  half-rations  at  the 
front,  and  an  unimpeded  supply  line  at  the  rear. 
This  latter  they  couldn't  do.  The  South  had 
cavalry  and  knew  how  to  use  it.  The  North  as 
yet  had  developed  no  General  who  had  the  faint 
est  conception  of  its  proper  function,  for  the  men 
who  knew  were  not  the  ones  in  position  to  say. 
Rosecrans,  however,  begged  for  cavalry,  and  suc 
ceeded  finally  in  getting  certain  regiments  of 
mounted  men  which  in  course  of  time  might  merit 
the  name,  provided  their  essays  were  not  too 
ambitious.  For  months  the  Southern  troopers 
made  life  a  burden  to  the  railway  guards,  and 
rode  almost  at  will  all  over  Tennessee,  raiding 
sometimes  into  far  Kentucky,  planning  soon  to 
sweep  into  Ohio.  Meantime  the  Army  of  the 
Cumberland,  like  that  in  Flanders,  swore  and 
stagnated,  but  Norman  Holt  worked  like  a  beaver 
to  the  end  that  his  Kentucky  guards  grew  famous 
throughout  the  corps,  and  to  the  further  end  that 
the  regiment  was  presently  called  in  to  do  duty 
in  the  immediate  guardianship,  as  it  were,  of 
corps— and  later  of  army— headquarters.  It  was 
not  what  the  Kentuckians  wanted  if  there  was 
fighting  to  be  done,  but  so  long  as  they  were 
loafing  about  in  camp  it  had  many  an  advantage. 
It  split  the  regiment  into  detachments,  however, 
which  did  not  please  the  colonel,  and  it  kept 
him  and  his  adjutant  close  to  the  throne,  which 
speedily  led  to  strange  results. 


THE  CUT  DIRECT  268 

One  day  in  early  April  came  a  letter  Norman 
Holt  was  longing  for— a  letter  from  Kate  Ray. 
It  gave  him  food  for  thought  for  many  a  week, 
as  well  as  cause  for  speedy  action.  She  wrote 
from  Cincinnati,  whither  she  had  gone  at  the 
urgent  summons  of  Mrs.  Lane.  There  had  been 
previous  letters— letters  brimful  of  pride  and  affec 
tionate  interest  from  Lexington.  They  had  heard 
—and  she  had  taken  care  that  they  should  know 
it  at  Cincinnati— of  his  splendid  service  at  Stone 
River.  Now  she  could  tell  him  of  matters  that, 
despite  all  his  devotion  to  soldier  duty,  weighed 
heavily  on  his  heart.  Though  he  had  written 
briefly,  coldly,  proudly  to  Margaret  Lane  in  an 
swer  to  her  cold  and  even  cruel  letter,  though  he 
had  told  her  in  so  many  words  that  she  need 
never  dread  another  visit  from  him,  he  could  not 
so  summarily  shut  her  out  of  his  thoughts.  He 
could  not  but  long  to  know  the  result  of  Malloy's 
home-going.  Gaffney,  the  Emmets,  and  the  Buck 
eyes,  generally,  had  written  many  a  disdainful 
thing  of  the  new  major  to  the  old  folks  at  home, 
but  the  major  was  there,  on  the  spot,  and  so 
was  the  crippled  colonel,  the  latter  loaded  with 
hospitality  at  the  hands  of  the  senior  Malloy,  and 
whispered  promises  of  the  speedy  coming  of  the 
yellow  sash  and  silver  star,  provided  he  would 
"stand  up"  for  Malloy,  Jr.  So  what  could  he 
do?  The  new  regiment  was  recruited  up  in  the 
old  "Western  Reserve."  The  men  were  camped  or 
housed,  and  the  major's  duties  were  not  so  ar 
duous  that  he  could  not  spend  much  time  in 
Cincinnati.  Presently  Colonel  Pride  was  able  to 


264  NORMAN  HOLT 

hobble  about  on  crutches  and  say  good  words 
for  him  in  society.  Major  Lane  had  gone  to 
Nashville,  leaving  his  business  and  household  to 
the  fostering  care  of  Senator  Malloy,  and  it  all 
looked  like  plain  sailing  for  the  lucky  young  field 
officer  when  Kate  Ray  was  called  to  Cincinnati 
by  a  sorely  troubled  mother.  They  had  had  news 
of  Theodore,  brought  by  an  officer— an  exchanged 
prisoner.  It  gave  such  relief  to  the  mother,  "but 
Daisy  seemed  going  into  a  decline." 

No  wonder  Kate's  letter  was  of  vivid  interest 
to  the  Kentucky  adjutant. 

"Daisy  is  listless,  nervous,  fitful,  but  declares  there's  nothing 
the  matter.  The  doctor  talks  vaguely  and  seems  puzzled. 
Major  Malloy,  so  Mrs.  Lane  tells  me,  has  been  a  frequent 
visitor,  and  so  hopeful,  kind,  and  considerate.  But  since  my 
coming  he  has  been  very  busy  at  Dayton.  The  regiment  is 
to  be  sent  forward  in  a  few  days.  What  I  do  not  understand 
is  Senator  Malloy's  position.  I  did  not  tell  you,  but,  when  I 
was  here  before,  he  appeared  just  as  I  was  leaving.  Now  he 
is  very  frequently  a  caller.  Mrs.  Lane  says  she  has  to  confer 
with  him  about  Mr.  Lane's  business  affairs,  but  Daisy  ought 
to  be  spared  those  conferences.  Yet,  twice,  she  has  had  to  go 
down  to  see  him,  and  both  times  looked  wretched  when  she 
returned.  To-morrow  I  must  hasten  home.  I  am  needed 
there.  But  I  so  wanted  to  see  Colonel  Pride,  who  has  been 
taking  up  the  cudgels  for  Major  Malloy,  and,  of  course,  what 
the  colonel  says  has  great  weight  against  what  has  been  said 
or  written  by  brother  officers,  'envious,  possibly,  of  his  suc 
cess.'  Nor  did  I  get  here  in  time  to  see  the  officer 
who  brought  Theodore's  letter.  It  seems  the  gentleman  had 
been  captured  when  severely  wounded,  had  given  his  parole, 
and  was  sent  through  the  lines  after  a  month  at  Chatta 
nooga.  He  has  resigned  and  gone  home,  but  Mrs.  Lane  said 
he  spoke  of  kindnesses  shown  him  by  your  brother  Henry, 
and  as  having  seen  Henry  with  Captain  Wing,  who  is  quite 


THE  CUT  DIRECT  065 

well  of  his  wound  and  eager  for  exchange.  It  was  through 
Henry  that  Theodore  was  able  to  meet  this  officer  and  send 
a  letter  to  his  mother— an  appeal  for  money,  mainly — but  he 
writes  he  knows  now  that  you  were  in  nowise  connected  with 
his  detection  and  capture.  I  can't  help  thinking  he  knew 
then,  when  he  made  his  furious  denunciation.  I  can't  help 
thinking,  too,  that  Henry  had  something  to  do  with  his 
putting  that  in  his  letter.  It  is  my  belief  that  Henry  and 
your  dear,  impulsive  old  father  have  long  since  learned  through 
Captain  Wing  the  real  truth  about  that  Belleview  affair,  and 
that  they  were  as  unjust  one  way  as  certain  of  your  superiors 
were  in  another.  They  know  of  your  court-martial  and  par 
don.  They  know  so  very  much  more  about  what  is  going  on 
in  our  army  than  we  do  of  theirs.  But,  Norman,  it  is  of 
Daisy  I  am  thinking  now.  If  you  were  only  here !  If  you 
could  only  come  a  few  days !  Can't  you?  I  cannot  get  her 
to  talk,  but  a  woman's  intuition  is  keen,  and  it  seems  to  me 
that  she  is  being  entangled  in  a  net  she  is  vainly  struggling 
against.  Now,  if  you  were  here,  Norman,  I  think  you  could 
break  it.  What  I  dread— I  must  tell  it  you— is  that  they  are 
striving  to  persuade  her  to  marry  Major  Malloy  before  he 
goes  again  to  the  front. 

"Now,  forgive  me  one  question.  I  know  that  Judge  Mc- 
Intyre  had  invested  all  that  your  mother  left  and  that  most 
of  it  was  lost,  but  wasn't  there  something  for  you  and  Henry 
that  Mr.  Lane  was  caring  for?  Has  there  been  any  account 
ing?  Do  you  know  whether  Mr.  Malloy  has  anything  to  do 
with  it  now?  Some  things  have  been  dropped  about  him — 
his  influence  over  the  Judge,  his  recently  acquired  influence 
over  the  Lanes,  and  I'm  at  a  loss  to  advise  you.  But,  Nor 
man,  if  possible — come !  Couldn't  you  write  or  see  Captain 
Enyart?  Even  though  General  Buell  is  gone,  he  still  has  in 
fluence  and — he  is  so  fond  of  you.  He's — I  think — on  duty  in 
Nashville.  Try!  Come!" 

Come!  What  would  lie  not  give  to  come?  Bui 
how  could  he  ask  such  favor  when  Sheridan's  divi 
sion  was  at  the  moment  under  orders  for  a  move 
and  his  colonel  was  stirring  the  very  earth  to  get 


286  NORMAN  HOLT 

ordered  back  to  the  brigade?  Come  and  save  her 
from  that  marriage— that  sacrifice !  Even  though 
he  had  written  he  would  never  seek  to  see  her 
again,  he  would  unsay  the  word  on  the  instant 
and  hasten  to  her,  were  it  possible  to  go.  The 
railway  beyond  Nashville  was  again  ripped  up 
by  Morgan's  light-hearted  and  hard-hitting  horse 
men.  This  letter  had  been  ten  days  coming, 
probably  sent  round  by  boat  from  Louisville  and 
up  the  Cumberland  to  Nashville.  It  might  take 
him  ten  days  to  reach  her,  another  ten  to  return, 
and  what  might  not  happen  in  those  twenty 
days?  Indeed,  were  he  there  would  she  see  him? 
Thank  God  for  one  thing !  His  father  and  brother 
were  probably  long  since  shown  the  light  as  to 
his  part  in  the  Belleview  raid !  Now  if  only  Wing 
could  be  exchanged  and  brought  back  to  his  own ! 
If  only  Connelly  could  be  found,  the  last  vestige 
of  reproach  would  then  be  swept  from  his  record! 

The  colonel  had  gone  over  to  the  tents  at  the 
General's  headquarters.  Norman,  in  his  own 
canvas  abode,  was  reading  again  Kate's  warm 
hearted  lines,  when  there  came  without  a  sputter 
of  horses'  hoofs  and  the  sound  of  an  Irish  voice 
he  would  know  the  world  over.  It  was  Gaffney 
shouting  for  an  "orrdherlee"  and  inquiring  for 
the  adjutant  at  the  same  moment.  One  glance 
showed  that  the  valiant  Celt  was  in  a  fume  of 
excitement. 

"Will  ye  lukkud  dthis,  Norman?"  quoth  he, 
striding  into  the  tent,  his  boots  thick  with  mud, 
his  breath  with  poteen.  "Wid  Pride  an'  Sill— God 
bless  his  sowl ! — an'  Shurd'n  an'  McCook,  ivery 


THE  CUT  DIRECT  267 

av  'em  backin'  me  for  meejor,  they  make 
that  omadhoun  Foley,  over  the  head  of  me!  It's 
all  along  o'  Malloy— thim  two  Malloys— an*  me 
the  saynior  captain.  Will  ye  come  wid  me  now?" 

"Come  where?"  asked  Norman. 

"To  the  Giner'l— to  headquarthers— till  I  strip 
the  skin  off  him!" 

"The  General's?" 

"The  Gineral's?  No!"  shouted  Gaffney,  "but 
Malloy's.  Ye  didn't  know  it?  He's  there !  He's 
back!  The  regiment's  in,  an'  he's  wid  it.  Will 
ye  come  now?" 

The  question  was  answered  for  him.  An  or 
derly,  one  of  his  own  Kentuckians,  was  at  the 
entrance,  with  the  colonel's  compliments  and  a 
summons  to  headquarters.  The  oddly  assorted 
pair  strode  away  together ;  Gaffney,  grizzled,  red- 
faced,  broad,  and  bulky ;  Holt,  dark-haired,  dark- 
eyed,  clean-cut,  tall,  and  slender.  There  was  the 
usual  throng  of  officers,  orderlies,  and  horses 
about  the  group  of  headquarters'  tents,  and  at 
the  entrance  to  the  commanding  General's  stood 
Sheridan,  buttoned  up  to  the  throat  in  his  hot, 
double-breasted  coat,  though  it  was  a  steaming 
day,  his  short  legs  thrust  thigh-deep  into  muddy  rid 
ing  boots,  his  black  eyes  snapping  with  impatience. 

"You're  wanted,  Holt,"  said  he,  in  his  quick, 

bluff  way.  "I  hope  you'll  go Hullo,  captain! 

What's  the  matter?" 

He  had  caught  sight  of  Gaffney  as  that  irate 
officer  drew  back  on  seeing  the  division  com 
mander,  but,  thus  challenged,  came  impulsively 
forward. 


96*  NORMAN  HOLT 

"Matther  enough,  Gineral !  They've  robbed  me, 
as  they  did  you,  and  given  me  leaves  to  Foley, 

him  that  doesn't   know But  I'll  not  say  a 

wurrd  against  Foley — on'y  'twas  me,  not  him,  the 
GinVl  recommended.  'Twas  them  two  Malloys, 
an1  wan  of  'em  is  here  now!" 

"Wait  here.  I  want  to  see  you  when  I  come 
out,"  broke  in  the  little  General  impetuously 
then  whirled  about  and  made  his  way  through  # 
tentful  of  clerks,  aids,  and  orderlies  to  an  innef 
office,  where  sat  the  commander  of  the  army 
looking  earnestly  into  the  face  of  Norman  Holt 
who,  side  by  side  with  his  colonel,  stood  respect 
fully  before  him. 

"The  line  I  mean,"  said  the  General,  with  a 
cordial  nod  to  Sheridan,  "is  south  of  Frenchman's 
Creek  and  to  the  left  of  the  pike  and  railway. 
You  know  it  well,  I've  been  told." 

"I  have  reason  to,"  answered  Holt,  the  blood 
quickly  mounting  to  his  brows. 

"Then — here's  the  very  man  you'll  need,  Sheri 
dan,"  said  the  chief.  "Go  ahead  with  your  prep 
arations,  and  I'll  send  Mr.  Holt  over  presently." 

A  few  minutes  later,  at  the  General's  request, 
Norman  was  seated  at  a  little  table  making  a 
rough  pen-and-ink  map  of  the  roads,  trails,  and 
streams  at  the  very  point  where  the  Buckeyes 
were  in  camp  the  morning  of  his  arrest.  Ho'W 
strange  it  seemed  that  eight  months  before  he 
had  passed  through  this  very  town  a  prisoner, 
charged  with  a  crime  whose  punishment  was 
death.  And  now  he  sat  in  the  presence  of  the 
commander,  welcomed,  trusted,  leaned  upon. 


THE  CUT  DIRECT  269 

He  was  still  at  work  upon  the  sketch.  The 
General  was  busy  with  his  new  chief  of  staff- 
Buckeyes,  both  of  them— when  an  aide-de-camp 
ushered  in  two  officers  in  spick  and  span,  glisten 
ing  uniforms— a  portly  colonel,  a  trim  little  major. 
"Old  Rosey"  dropped  the  matter  in  hand  to  beam 
upon  the  new-comers.  "Welcome,  colonel;  wel 
come  again,  Major  Malloy.  Of  course  you  both 
know  General  Garfield."  There  was  a  moment 
of  hand-shaking,  as  the  four  Ohioans  exchanged 
cordial  greeting,  and  the  aid  stood  quietly  by. 
"You  come  just  in  time  to  go  with  Sheridan.  He 
was  here  not  five  minutes  back,  but  one  of  my 
right-hand  men  will  guide  you  to  him.  Gentle 
men,  let  me  present  the  adjutant  of  the  — th 
Kentucky,  Lieutenant  Holt." 

At  sound  of  the  name  both  officers  turned  with 
a  start.  The  colonel  reddened,  looked  embar 
rassed,  but  awkwardly  held  out  a  hand.  The 
major  turned  sickly  white.  With  a  cool  but 
courteous  bow  to  the  senior,  Norman  took  the 
proffered  hand,  quickly  dropped  it,  then  turned 
and  looked  straight  at  the  junior — at  a  pallid, 
averted  face,  at  which  both  General  and  chief  of 
staff  were  gazing  in  surprise,  and  the  strange 
silence  was  broken  by  the  adjutant's  voice  as  he 
deliberately  drew  his  hand  behind  him : 

"I  ask  your  pardon,  General  Rosecrans,  but; — 
I  know  Major  MaUoy." 


CHAPTER  XXII 
STRANGE  FACE  AT  THE  FRONT 

When  an  officer  and  a  gentleman,  in  the  presence 
and  hearing  of  other  officers  and  gentlemen,  es 
pecially  when  they  are  of  such  high  rank  as  the 
commander  of  an  army  in  the  field,  refuses  his 
hand  and  acknowledges  a  presentation  to  another 
officer,  supposedly  a  gentleman,  with  the  signifi 
cant  remark,  "I  know  the  man,"  it  means  only 
one  thing.  He  knows  him  so  well  that  he  will 
have  nothing  to  do  with  him.  Holt  did  not  con 
duct  the  new-comers  to  Sheridan's  headquarters. 
Without  another  word  he  returned  to  his  map. 
The  General  saw  instantly  that  there  was  bitter 
feud  between  the  young  men,  that  even  in  his 
presence  could  not  be  forgotten.  Ignoring  it  en 
tirely,  he  chatted  a  moment  with  the  colonel, 
until  Malloy  had  partially  regained  color  and 
composure;  then  inquired  after  his  father,  the 
Senator;  and,  Mr.  Holt  being  still  busy,  turned 
them  over  to  the  aide-de-camp.  When  they  were 
gone  Norman  arose,  laid  the  paper  before  the 
General  and  stood,  half  expectant  of  rebuke  or 
reprimand,  but  none  came.  Like  Grant,  Rosecrans 
took  no  notice  of  minor  affairs  when  great  ones 
demanded  his  attention.  A  few  quick  questions 
were  all  he  asked,  as  to  fords  and  wood  roads, 
and  whether  light  guns  could  be  run  through  the 


STRANGE  FACE  AT  THE  FRONT  271 

forest  along  the  western  foothills.  Then,  briefly 
bidding  Norman  hold  himself  in  readiness  for  im 
portant  service,  and  with  a  hint  as  to  silence, 
wished  him  all  success  and  said  good-afternoon. 
That  evening,  summoned  to  the  headquarters  of 
the  corps  commander,  Norman  Holt  found  assem 
bled  some  men  already  famous  in  the  Army  of 
the  Cumberland.  Central  figure  in  the  group, 
blunt,  outspoken,  burly,  sat  McCook,  a  map  on 
his  knee  and  objurgation  on  his  lips.  He  who 
loved  a  square  fight  and  asked  no  favor  had  been 
bidden  to  hold  the  foe  instead  of  hammering  him. 
The  exasperations  of  Perryville  and  Stone  River 
still  rankled  in  his  heart,  and  he  longed  for  oppor 
tunity  to  show  what  his  men  could  do  when  not 
overlapped  and  outnumbered,  as  had  hitherto 
occurred.  He  wanted  to  hit,  not  clinch,  and  here 
\vere  orders  that  he  should  maneuver — occupy  the 
attention  of  Hardee's  crack  corps,  prevent  their 
sending  aid  to  other  fellows  thirty  miles  away, 
whom  Thomas  would  fall  upon  and  crush.  Much 
of  the  same  mind  was  the  fierce  little  black-eyed 
division  commander,  striding  up  and  down  the 
room,  listening  with  obvious  impatience  to  the 
explanations  of  the  suave  Garfield,  courteous, 
plausible,  conciliatory,  if  not  entirely  convincing. 
The  candles  on  the  rough  pine  table  flared  and 
flickered  in  the  breeze  that  stirred  the  cheap  cur 
tains  and  swept  through  the  tawdry  Tennessee 
living-room.  It  was  one  of  the  farmhouses  not 
far  from  the  outskirts  of  the  little  town.  Two 
or  three  staff  officers  sat  copying  orders  at  an 
adjoining  table;  another  at  the  hall  doorway 


272  NORMAN  HOLT 

was  in  low-toned  conversation  with  the  com 
mander  of  the  cavalry  escort,  waiting  in  the  mud 
without.  It  had  begun  to  rain  again.  It  seemed 
as  though  it  always  rained  when  the  Army  of  the 
Cumberland  needed  to  march,  and  it  never  rained 
but  it  poured.  Norman  Holt,  dismounting  and 
giving  the  reins  to  an  orderly,  entered  the  narrow 
hallway  and  briefly  said:  "I  am  ordered  to  re 
port  here  to  General  Sheridan— Lieutenant  Holt, 
adjutant  — th  Kentucky." 

The  staff  officer  returned  his  salute,  looking 
curiously,  almost  sharply,  at  him.  The  story  of 
that  afternoon's  episode  was  already  aleak,  and 
men  do  not  trifle  with  fellows  who,  even  in  the 
presence  of  the  commander,  stand  to  their  convic 
tions,  as  had  Norman  Holt. 

"The  General  is  engaged  just  now.  I'll  an 
nounce  you  in  a  moment.  I  think  I've  heard  Bob 
Enyart  speak  of  you,  Mr.  Holt.  My  name's  War 
den.  Let  me  present  you  to  Captain  O'Connor. 
Your  old  friend  Gaffney,  by  the  way,  was  here 
not  long  ago,  and  General  Garfield  heard  his 
explosion,  too." 

Holt  smiled  gravely.  "Sorry  I  came  too  late," 
said  he.  "Gaffney  is  sore  at  being  overslaughed, 
and  I  don't  blame  him.  But  he's  too  good  a 
soldier  to  have  his  chances  spoiled  by  angry  talk." 

"Well,  he  charged  it  all  to  Malloy,  and  I  fancy 
General  Sheridan  wasn't  sorry  to  have  Garfield 
hear  that  much,  anyhow."  And  the  aide-de-camp 
looked  keenly  at  the  Kentuckian,  as  though  in 
hopes  of  hearing  his  views  on  the  subject  of 
Malloj. 


STRANGE  FACE  AT  THE  FRONT  273 

But  that  reply  was,  at  least,  not  verbal.  Holt 
had  been  long  enough  an  officer  to  learn  that 
one  of  the  curses  of  the  camp  is  the  tendency  to 
gossip— the  frequency  of  misquotation.  "Say 
nothing  you  would  not  have  repeated— especially 
in  garbled  form"  was  a  good  rule  for  a  staff 
officer.  Norman  wondered  at  the  General's  aid 
that  did  not  seem  to  know  it.  Meddling  in  the 
affairs  of  other  men  is  bad  enough  ©n  the  line; 
it  is  worse  in  the  staff.  Warden  showed  that  he 
felt  the  tacit  rebuke.  He  looked  a  bit  nettled, 
but  promptly  said,  "I  beg  pardon— but  of  course 
you  realize  that  Gaffney  has  been  proclaiming 
this  and— other  matters— from  the  housetops." 

Then  came  Sheridan's  voice,  quick,  impatient, 
and  with  it  Sheridan  himself,  right  at  Warden's 
elbow.  "Isn't  Holt  here  yet?  It's  high  time- 
on,  come  right  in,  Holt.  We've  been  waiting." 

"So  have  I,  sir,"  said  the  Kentuckian,  as  he 
followed  his  little  leader  into  the  office.  There,  at 
a  nod  from  McCook,  he  closed  the  door  behind 
them,  which  Warden  liked  still  less.  It  left  him 
obviously  out  of  the  conference. 

"Know  who  that  is,  I  s'pose?"  said  he,  shortly, 
to  the  cavalry  officer.  "That's  Holt — who  was 
charged  with  misguiding  Wing's  squadron,  and 
later  sentenced  for  sleeping  on  post." 

"Not  guilty  of  either,  as  I  understand  it,"  said 
the  trooper,  shortly.  "What  do  you  know?" 

"H— m,  well.    Considerable  smoke  for  no  fire. 
Pardoned  on  account  of  Judge  Holt's  influence, 
as  I  understand  it.    Wait  till  we  hear  MaHoy's 
story.    D'ye  think  he'll  fight?" 
18 


274  NORMAN  HOLT 

"Don't  know,"  was  the  short  reply,  "but,  if  he 
will,  Holt  will  give  him  all  he  wants." 

"Oh,  I  forgot  you  were  a  Kentuckian,"  said 
Warden,  nettled  again.  "I  suppose  you  know 
Mr.  Holt." 

"Never  met  him  before  in  my  life.  I'm  from 
Paducah.  But  you'd  better  talk  to  the  Buckeyes 
before  you  believe  Malloy.  That's  my  advice." 
And  the  captain  quit  his  chair  and  sauntered  out 
on  the  porch,  another  symptom  that  Warden  was 
making  a  mess  of  it;  another  reason  why  War 
den  should  desire  to  hear  anything  to  strengthen 
his  side,  even  as  against  a  man  who  had  never 
wronged  him.  When  the  conference  broke  up  that 
evening  and  Warden  was  released  from  duty,  he 
made  his  way  to  the  camp  of  the  new-comers  and 
sought  out  Major  Malloy. 

But  the  Generals  spoke  earnestly  together  even 
after  they  came  out  from  the  building.  At  Sheri 
dan's  request  Holt  had  briefly  described  the  situa 
tion  south  of  Frenchman's  Creek,  and  again  made 
a  little  sketch,  which,  stepping  to  one  side,  the 
seniors  compared  with  the  map  in  the  hands  of 
McCook,  and  lowered  their  voices  as  they  talked.  It 
was  McCook  who  finally  blurted  out,  impatiently: 

"Do  you  suppose  Hardee  will  be  deceived  by 
the  sight  of  a  single  division?  I  don't.  I've 
served  under  him.  I  know  him." 

"There  are — other  ways, "  answered  the  chief 
of  staff,  placidly,  with  a  warning  look  at  the 
impetuous  speaker,  and  a  quick  glance  at  the 
three  junior  officers  in  the  room.  "You  can  leave 
that  to  me." 


STRANGE  FACE  AT  THE  FRONT  276 

Late  that  night  Norman  lay  pondering  over  the 
events  of  the  day— over  Kate's  letter,  over  GafFney 's 
bibulous  excitement,  over  the  dramatic  meeting 
at  general  headquarters,  and  Malloy's  evident 
discomfiture.  Of  one  thing  he  felt  assured,  yet 
could  not  say  why— the  major  had  not  yet  pre 
vailed,  Daisy  Lane  had  not  surrendered.  The 
regiment  must  have  been  sent  forward  within  a 
day  or  two  of  Kate's  announcement — probably 
shipped  by  river  all  the  way  from  Cincinnati  to 
Nashville.  This  was  one  cause,  at  least,  for 
rejoicing,  and  he  had  another,  for  even  in  the  in 
tensity  of  his  devotion  to  his  soldier  duty,  Nor 
man  Holt  was  human.  In  the  hearing  and  pres 
ence  of  the  highest  officers  of  the  army  he  had 
been  able  at  last  to  express  his  contempt  foi 
Burnett  Malloy. 

GafFney  was  awaiting  his  return.  The  Irishman 
had  heard  the  story  as  it  reached  the  Buckeyes, 
and  after  a  wild  hurrah  and  a  rousing  drink,  had 
rushed  to  "tinder  his  sarvices,"  for,  of  course, 
Malloy  must  fight.  Even  in  an  age  when  dueling 
was  on  its  last  legs,  a  soldier  could  not  submit 
to  such  ignominious  treatment  without  losing 
caste  in  the  whole  corps.  "A  missidge,"  said 
GafFney,  "should  come  furrst  thing  in  the 
marnin'."  If  it  didn't,  bedad,  he'd  "cyarry  wan 
to  Malloy,"  and  Norman,  knowing  that  long 
before  GafFney 's  inflamed  peepers  would  open  on 
the  morrow  camp  would  be  left  long  miles  behind, 
but  remembering,  nevertheless,  that  he  was  en 
joined  to  silence,  finally  got  rid  of  his  importunate 
friend  by  promise  that  the  "missidge"  and  its 


376  NORMAN  HOLT 

bearer  should  be  referred  to  Gaffhey  the  instant 
it  was  received. 

"And  you  promise  me  you'll  go  straight  to  bed, 
Gaffhey,  and  drink  no  more  to-night.  You'll  need 
a  clear,  cool  head  in  the  morning,"  was  the  only 
stipulation,  and  Gaffney  gave  his  word  and  went 
his  way. 

At  four  o'clock  in  the  soft  summer-like  morning 
there  rode  away  from  corps  headquarters  a  squad 
ron  of  cavalry,  led  by  the  Paducah  captain,  and 
at  his  side  rode  Norman  Holt.  Five  miles  out 
they  reached  the  stations  of  the  southernmost 
command  of  the  Army  of  the  Cumberland.  Be 
tween  them  and  the  enemy's  pickets,  who  covered 
the  country  from  beyond  Columbia  on  the  west 
far  up  to  McMinnville  on  the  heights,  there  was 
now  nothing  but  the  Union  sentries  and  their  sup 
ports,  but  in  the  gray  of  the  dawn  were  a  dozen 
strong  squadrons  of  cavalry  feeding  and  groom 
ing  in  the  fields  to  the  right  and  left  of  the  Shel- 
byville  pike,  and  a  staff  officer,  coming  forward, 
conducted  O'Connor  and  his  tall  Kentucky  com 
rade  to  the  presence  of  the  General  in  command. 
The  sun  was  just  glinting  the  tips  of  the  trees  as 
they  came  upon  the  party,  sipping  coffee  at  a 
campfire.  Coffee  and  welcome  both  were  tendered 
to  the  new-comers,  and  then  the  General,  bearded 
and  soldierly,  took  Norman  to  one  side,  and  drew 
from  the  breast  of  his  uniform  coat  a  paper  which 
Norman  recognized  at  once.  It  was  the  map  he 
made  for  Rosecrans  the  night  before.  The  other 
was  in  the  hands  of  Sheridan.  "We  mount  in 
twenty  minutes,"  said  the  General.  "What  I 


STRANGE  FACE  AT  THE  FRONT  277 

wished  to  ask  was,  are  you  so  familiar  with  this 
neighborhood" — and  he  struck  the  sheet  with  his 
gauntleted  hand — "that  you  could  lead  through 
there  back  of  Wartrace — in  the  dark?" 

Norman  hesitated.  He  had,  as  he  told  the 
General-in-chief,  abundant  reason  to  know  that 
region,  but  there  was  something  in  the  question, 
the  tone,  that  brought  up  instantly  the  memory 
of  that  ride  in  the  dark  across  the  Hardin  Hills, 
through  Shelby  Gap.  The  very  next  words  de 
cided  him.  The  very  name  was  enough. 

"Bragg's  main  body  is  at  Shelby ville,"  said  the 
General,  quickly.  "Hardee  is  to  his  right  at  War- 
trace,  covering  Tullahoma,  and  there's  nothing 
but  cavalry  from  there  out  to  McMinnville.  I 
need  not  go  into  details,  but — the  plan  is  for  us 
to  make  wide  detour  to  the  east,  while  Sheridan 
holds  them  in  front  of  Wartrace,  and — others 
occupy  everybody  else  the  whole  length  of  the 
line.  We  are  to  burst  through  there  and  try  to 
get  a  peep  at  Tullahoma.  I  estimate  that  it  will 
take  the  best  of  two  days  and  all  to-night." 

The  answer  was  prompt.  "I  can  guide  you 
along  the  creek,  sir,  anywhere  to  the  north  of  it— 
nowhere  to  the  south.  We  were  forbidden  to  cross. ' ' 

"Yet  I'm  told  many  of  you  fellows  did  cross." 

"Only  a  few  parties  scouting  for  stills,  sir,  and 
they  had  to  risk  capture  at  any  moment." 

At  this  moment  an  aid  approached  and  pointed 
north.  Two  miles  away,  over  a  low  ridge,  came 
crawling,  snakelike,  a  long  black  column,  tipped 
with  fire— the  morning  sunshine  slanting  on  thou 
sands  of  sloping  rifles. 


278  NORMAN  HOLT 

"Sheridan  already!"  said  the  General.  "Sound 
to  horse!  Will  you  ride  with  me,  Mr.  Holt? 
They'll  not  need  you  at  the  front  until  by  and 
by." 

Five  minutes  later  the  whole  brigade  of  cavalry 
was  rapidly  saddling,  while  the  General,  with  a 
few  staff  officers,  rode  swiftly  over  toward  the 
pike  to  meet  the  coming  column,  Sheridan  at  its 
head.  There  was  a  brief  conference  between  the 
two  leaders,  while  all  juniors  respectfully  drew 
aside.  But  the  little  division  commander  nodded 
cheerily  to  Holt,  then  beckoned  him  to  draw 
nigh. 

"Thomas  marched  an  hour  before  I  did,"  were 
the  words  he  was  saying,  as  the  adjutant  reined 
closer.  "He  must  be  well  out  on  the  way  to 
Columbia  now.  Heard  any  firing?" 

"Not  a  crack  anywhere,"  was  the  sturdy  an 
swer. 

"Well,  good-bye,  Stanley.  Send  Mr.  Holt  to  us 
as  soon  as  you  make  it,  will  you?  I'll  give  those 
fellows  in  front  all  they  can  attend  to  mean 
while." 

Already  the  cavalry  had  swung  into  saddle  and 
were  filing  away  eastward  through  a  cross-coun 
try  road,  but  O'Connor's  squadron  remained 
awaiting  the  coming  of  the  commander.  The  sun 
was  peeping  above  the  tree-tops,  and  the  dripping 
leaves,  still  heavy  with  the  rain  of  the  night 
before,  stirring  under  the  rising  breeze,  shook 
showers  of  diamonds  on  the  horsemen  winding 
below.  Up  from  the  rear  of  Sheridan's  escort  a 
trooper  rode  to  the  General's  side,  and,  touching 


STRANGE  FACE  AT  THE  FRONT  279 

his  cap,  sat  in  saddle  mutely  awaiting  instruc 
tions.  His  dress,  his  equipment,  his  arms,  seemed 
newer  than  those  of  his  comrades.  His  face,  too, 
lacked  the  tan  of  the  warrior  veteran.  His  seat, 
his  salute,  even,  were  not  those  of  the  cavalry, 
and  Norman  Holt  looked  at  him  in  odd  curiosity. 
Somewhere  he  had  seen  that  face  before.  Some 
where—when  it  was  not  pleasant.  Sheridan 
glanced  at  the  new-comer  askance. 

"Oh,  yes,  Stanley.  This  man  is  to  join  your 
escort.  You  can  send  him  back  with  Lieutenant 
Holt  after  you're— through.  Follow  the  lieuten 
ant,  my  lad.  Good-bye,  Holt.  Good  luck!"  And 
then  the  little  General  pricked  away,  and  Stanley, 
looking  queerly,  keenly  at  the  latest  arrival,  mo 
tioned  Holt  to  ride  on  his  left  hand,  reining  his 
horse  about,  to  make  way  for  him. 

"What's  the  game,  do  you  suppose?"  he  mut 
tered.  "You  know  that's  one  of  those  secret- 
service  men,  don't  you?" 

Know?  It  flashed  all  at  once  over  Norman 
Holt.  This  man  in  the  trooper  garb  -was  indeed 
no  private  soldier.  Swung  over  one  of  his  shoul 
ders  was  a  waterproof  sack  such  as  was  often  car 
ried  by  couriers  and  dispatch  bearers  in  stormy 
weather.  That,  and  the  newness  of  his  outfit, 
distinguished  him  from  the  array  of  the  escort. 
So  did  his  pale,  earnest  face,  and  now  Norman 
knew  where  first  that  face  appeared  before  him. 
It  was  on  that  woful  day  at  Cincinnati.  This 
was  one  of  the  men  who  collared  the  deserter, 
Theodore  Lane. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

UNDER  FALSE  ORDERS 

Almost  without  event  the  long  day  wore  on. 
At  times  a  squadron  was  halted,  detached  from 
the  column  and  pushed  out  southward.  Espe 
cially  was  this  done  -where  road  or  pathway 
entered  the  -woods,  or  where  there  were  broad, 
open  fields.  This  seemed  odd  to  Norman,  and  the 
General  saw  his  perplexity,  smiled,  and  explained : 
"We  wish  them  to  see  us.  The  idea  is  that  we 
are  but  a  cavalry  veil  covering  a  heavy  column 
of  infantry  on  march  for  the  mountains ;  whereas, 
there  isn't  a  battalion  of  infantry  east  of  Carlocks 
— that  town  we  passed  three  hours  ago." 

Holt  still  looked  puzzled.  "I  couldn't  help  hear 
ing  General  Sheridan  say  the  Fourteenth  Corps 
was  out  toward  Columbia  by  this  time,  yet " 

"That's  it,"  answered  the  General.  "Pretty 
much  everything  is  moving  out  that  way.  But 
we're  coaxing  them  to  believe  everything  is  com 
ing  this  way  instead.  You  can  hear  Sheridan 
banging  at  Hardee's  outposts  now." 

True.  Borne  on  the  soft  breeze  blowing  from 
the  lowlands  far  to  the  -west,  every  now  and  then 
the  dull  boom,  boom  of  distant  cannon  caught 
the  ear.  At  times,  too,  among  the  woods  to  the 
south  and  eastward,  where  the  hillsides  seemed 


ONDER  FALSE  ORDERS  281 

to  grow  steeper  and  steeper,  the  "ping"  of  carbine 
broke  the  silence,  as  scouting  parties  of  gray 
horsemen  ventured  too  near  the  long  skirmish 
line  in  blue.  As  the  sun  sank  farther  to  the  west 
the  sound  of  cannon  became  less  frequent  and  the 
woods  woke  up  with  almost  incessant  barking. 
Stanley,  with  his  staff  and  escort,  had  halted 
near  a  decrepit  farmhouse  in  the  open,  awaiting 
the  report  of  certain  squadron  commanders  before 
pushing  on  toward  the  heights,  and  Norman, 
who  had  been  questioned  so  closely  as  to  the 
road  and  streams  toward  Tullahoma,  wondered 
that  he  should  be  going  so  far  away  from  the 
region  he  was  supposed  to  know.  Another  thing 
had  surprised  him  and  given  him  food  for  earnest 
thought.  Halting  at  noonday  for  a  bite,  the 
staff  had  gathered  about  the  General,  while  field 
officers  came  and  went,  making  reports  and  re 
ceiving  instructions.  Not  a  word  had  the  Ken- 
tuckian  exchanged  with  the  acting  trooper,  who 
in  placid  silence  had  ridden  for  hours  at  his  heels, 
but  now  they  came  together.  Linking  his  horse 
with  that  of  a  soldier  of  the  escort,  the  man  with 
the  dispatch  bag  had  strolled  off  to  the  right. 
There  he  took  from  a  pocket  a  little  parcel  of 
oiled  silk,  and  from  the  dispatch  bag  some  stout, 
official  envelopes.  These  latter  he  laid  upon  a 
convenient  stump  while  he  essayed  to  unfold  the 
silk.  In  that  moist,  humid  atmosphere  the  folds 
had  stuck  together  and  resisted.  Engrossed  in 
his  occupation,  he  failed  apparently  to  notice  the 
coming  of  the  Kentuckian  until  Norman  stood  at 
his  side.  Then  his  first  move  was  to  throw  the 


282  NORMAN  HOLT 

unfolded  portion  of  the  silk  over  the  address  on 
the  topmost  of  the  pile,  but  that  superscription 
was  in  large  and  most  legible  hand,  "Major-Gen 
eral  George  H.  Thomas,  Commanding  Fourteenth 
Corps,"  and,  unless  he  came  with  blinded  eyes, 
Norman  could  not  help  seeing.  Why  should  orders 
for  Thomas  be  here  on  the  extreme  left  if  Thomas 
was  out  on  the  extreme  right?  The  man  saw  the 
look  in  the  officer's  eyes,  but  was  silent  tmtil 
Norman  spoke. 

"You  were  not  in  uniform  the  morning  you 
arrested  Theodore  Lane,"  said  he. 

"Nor  were  you,"  was  the  answer,  with  a  quiet 
smile.  "Our  duties  are  many-sided.  Just  now  I 
am  a  courier  and  you  a  guide,  yet  neither  has 
his  part  to  play  until  nightfall." 

All  the  long  afternoon,  as  the  column  pushed 
its  way  slowly  southeastward,  Holt  had  been 
thinking  over  his  words.  Now,  as  sunset  came 
on,  he  noted  that  the  courier  had  ridden  out  with 
one  of  Stanley's  aids,  and  was  close  to  the  young 
officer  in  command  of  a  platoon,  deployed  as 
skirmishers  just  entering  a  skirt  of  woods.  Half 
a  mile  back  they  had  crossed  a  broad  country 
road  that  seemed  in  better  repair  than  was  usual, 
and  the  General,  with  a  grin  of  satisfaction,  or 
dered  a  squadron  sent  out  northeastward  along 
that  road  to  hold  the  flank.  "But  mind  you," 
said  he  to  the  captain  commanding,  "be  ready  to 
fall  back  at  dusk.  That,"  he  continued,  turning 
to  Norman,  and  pointing  southwest,  "is  the  road 
we  take  the  minute  it's  dark,  but  I've  got  to 
swing  a  covering  force  beyond  it." 


UNDER  FALSE  ORDERS  283 

That  covering  force  must  have  taken  time,  and 
meanwhile  the  advance  along  the  McMinnville 
road  southeast  was  checked.  It  was  cavalry 
against  cavalry  only,  but  Johnny  Reb  was  on 
his  native  heath,  and  the  farther  his  patrols  and 
skirmishers  were  pushed  back  toward  the  main 
body,  the  thicker  they  got.  ' 'Shove  out  two  of 
your  platoons,  O'Connor,"  said  the  General, 
sharply,  after  listening  awhile  to  the  crackle. 
"They're  holding  fast  just  here  where  I  don't 
want  them  to.  It's  time  to  turn  the  column 
toward  Tullahoma,  but  they  mustn't  see.  Hold 
them  off  there  for  half  an  hour ;  then  they  can't 
see!" 

Promptly  the  captain  of  the  escort  threw  for 
ward  the  first  troop,  he  himself  riding  out  with 
the  men.  It  was  a  spirited  scene,  and  Norman  sat 
gazing  in  fascination.  In  front  of  them  were  rugged 
slopes,  up  which  at  a  distance  wound  the  Mc 
Minnville  road.  Stumps,  stones,  and  snake-fences 
adorned  the  landscape  close  at  hand,  but  there 
was  a  fringe  of  forest  three  hundred  yards  away 
and,  beyond  that,  bold,  tumbling,  wooded  heights, 
all  aglow  with  the  glare  of  the  setting  sun,  all  alive 
apparently  with  Southern  skirmishers.  The  in 
stant  he  reached  the  open  O'Connor  deployed  for 
ward  at  a  trot,  his  Kentucky  horsemen  scattering 
fence-rails  and  squirming  among  the  stumps  as 
jauntily  as  they  would  ride  to  the  races.  Out  at 
the  far  front  the  woods  were  ringing  with  the 
rebel  yell,  which  meant  that  Johnny  was  winning. 
He  never  yelled  when  he  wasn't— if  he  knew  it. 
The  trouble  with  our  Southern  brother  too  oft- 


284  NORMAN  HOLT 

en  was  that  he  wouldn't  know  when  he  was 
whipped.  The  woods  rang  with  louder  clamor 
when  O'Connor's  long  line  got  fairly  in,  and  there 
was  a  glorious  burst  of  musketry  when  they 
reached  the  retiring  line  and  let  loose  on  their 
pursuers.  Norman,  carried  away  by  the  thrill  of 
the  sound,  turned  to  beg  leave  to  ride  out  to  the 
front,  but  Stanley  and  the  staff  were  gone.  There 
stood  the  reserves.  There,  filing  to  the  right,  half 
a  mile  back,  the  main  column  was  being  switched 
off  Tullahoma  way.  Then  up  came  an  aid  at  a 
gallop. 

"It's  all  right,"  he  cried.  "The  road's  covered. 
O'Connor's  people  are  to  fall  back  here."  And 
Norman  galloped  on  with  him,  out  to  the  front. 

In  the  thick  of  the  woods  and  the  joy  of  the 
fight  they  found  the  gentleman  from  Paducah. 
"Retire,  captain.  Withdraw  the  line.  But  hold 
'em  off.  I'll  show  you  where  to  stand!"  shouted 
the  aid,  and  O'Connor,  nodding,  spurred  forward. 
Aloft  the  bullets  sang  and  bit  through  the  trees, 
but  the  fire  -was  moderate,  the  aim  too  high. 
Johnny  was  shooting  down  hill.  The  trumpets 
began  a  lively  peal,  and  presently  the  rapid  fire 
subsided,  and,  to  the  sound  of  slow,  scattered 
shots,  the  mounted  skirmishers  reined  about, 
O'Connor's  fellows  first  to  disentangle  themselves 
from  the  original  line,  and  came  trotting  back 
through  the  trees.  The  yells  that  had  died  away 
before  the  fierce  fire  of  the  re-enforced  line  speedily 
began  again  as  O'Connor's  troop  disappeared, 
leaving  only  a  thin  and  dispersed  array  to  hold 
the  woods.  The  aid  still  remained,  as  though 


UNDER  FALSE  ORDERS  285 

personally  to  guide  the  commander  to  the  new 
station  at  the  rear,  and  Norman  stayed  with 
him,  fascinated.  Suddenly,  at  a  point  to  their 
right,  where  there  was  a  little  clearing,  half  a 
dozen  troopers  came  clattering  out  in  some  dis 
order,  as  though  hard  pressed  at  the  front.  In 
stantly  the  aid  and  Norman  from  one  side,  and  a 
cavalry  lieutenant  from  the  other,  dashed  at 
them,  drove  them  back  into  line,  and  as  they 
floundered  about  in  the  soft,  squashy  soil  of  the 
open  field,  ashamed  of  their  panic,  and  eager  to 
recover  the  lost  ground,  the  troopers  were  aston 
ished  to  see  one  of  their  own  number,  apparently, 
dismounted  at  the  edge  of  the  timber,  straining 
at  his  saddle  girth,  while  his  excited  horse  pranced 
about  and  circled  round  him.  It  was  the  courier, 
and,  as  though  to  have  free  use  of  his  hands,  he 
had  slung  his  carbine.  The  next  instant  a  chorus 
of  exultant  yells  burst  from  the  heart  of  the 
timber,  and  a  crashing  volley  sent  the  bullets 
whistling  about  the  ears  of  the  onlookers.  Down 
went  two  horses,  kicking  and  plunging  in  the 
mud,  bearing  their  riders  with  them.  Away 
darted  a  third,  in  panic  uncontrollable,  but  to 
Norman's  horror,  as  the  courier  sprang  into 
saddle  and  came  spurring  away  for  safety,  some 
thing,  a  bullet  possibly,  had  clipped  the  strap  of 
that  dispatch  bag,  and  sliding  from  the  fleeing 
rider's  shoulder,  it  fell,  with  its  precious,  priceless 
contents,  to  the  ground. 

"Good  God!  Those  are  orders—orders  for 
Thomas!"  shouted  Norman.  "Come  on!  They 
must  be  saved!"  And  never  waiting  to  sec  who 


286  NORMAN  HOLT 

might  follow;  never  heeding  shouts  or  shots  or 
the  rush  of  gray-jacketed  troopers  through  the 
woods  ahead,  straight  for  the  abandoned  haver 
sack  he  spurred,  noting  only  as  he  shot  past  the 
fleeing  courier  that  he  was  clutching  at  the  pom 
mel  and  swaying  in  the  saddle.  Straight  as  the 
flight  of  an  arrow  he  darted  on,  linked  his  left 
hand  in  a  lock  of  the  flowing  mane,  and  never 
slackening  speed,  hurled  himself  from  the  saddle, 
his  left  leg  deftly  curling  about  the  cantle, 
swooped  low  as  the  gallant  horse  bore  him  swift 
ly  on,  clutched  the  strap  of  the  priceless  bag  in 
his  gauntleted  hand,  and  with  a  shout  of  triumph 
regained  his  seat,  waving  the  prize  on  high.  And 
then,  then,  as  in  sweeping  circle  he  strove  to  rein 
about  to  rejoin  his  comrades,  whose  shouts  and 
shots  were  ringing  over  the  field,  the  woods  close 
at  hand  seemed  to  spit  with  sudden  fire,  the  air 
buzzed  with  stinging  missiles,  the  crack  of  car 
bines  smote  upon  his  ear.  Something  stung  his 
left  arm  just  below  the  shoulder,  and  numb,  limp, 
and  spouting  blood,  it  fell  nerveless  by  his  side. 
His  bounding  steed  gave  two  or  three  frantic 
plunges,  and  then  went  headlong,  plowing  the 
soft  soil  with  nose  and  doubled  knees.  Norman 
felt  himself  hurled  forward,  clinging  still  to  his 
prize,  and  even  in  his  agony  strove  to  hurl  it  to 
the  few  troopers  who  had  followed  him.  Too 
late !  A  swarm  of  yelling  lads  in  gray  came  tear 
ing  into  the  field.  Rough  hands  seized  the  stricken 
officer  and  dragged  him  to  his  feet.  There  sound 
ed  in  his  ear  a  moment  a  chorus  of  mingled  cheers 
and  yells,  a  furious  sputter  of  musketry,  and 


UNDER  FALSE  ORDERS  287 

then  lie  realized  that  from  the  ambush  of  the 
forest  a  strong  force  of  Southern  horse  had  burst 
upon  the  thin  skirmish  line  and  swept  it  all  away. 
Exultant  Johnnies  were  already  exploring  that 
precious  bag  in  hopes  of  something  to  eat  or 
drink.  He  and  those  dispatches  were  the  prize 
of  the  enemy.  The  plans  of  "Old  Rosey"  in  the 
hands  of  Hardee ! 

A  surgeon  was  ripping  up  his  coat  sleeve,  while 
an  officer  in  the  garb  of  a  colonel  bent  over  and 
questioned.  No  need  to  ask  if  it  was  Stanley's 
cavalry  in  front.  They  knew  that  well  enough. 
"What  force  is  behind  him?"  Norman  closed  his 
eyes,  faint  and  sick,  and  would  make  no  answer. 

"Hard  hit,"  said  the  surgeon,  in  low  tone. 
"Humerus  smashed.  Bullet  just  missed  the  bra- 
chial  artery."  Darkness  was  coming  down.  The 
sound  of  the  fight  had  swept  to  the  west.  The 
Confederate  colonel  gave  brief  orders  to  the  few 
men  who  lingered  about,  then  mounted  and  rode 
away. 

Late  that  night,  the  bleeding  stanched,  his  arm 
in  splints  and  deftly  bound,  Norman  lay  in  bed 
in  a  farmhouse  among  the  Tennessee  hills,  still 
faint,  weak,  chagrined,  yet  conscious  that  he  had 
done  a  soldier's  best  to  save  those  precious  pa 
pers.  In  an  adjoining  room  were  gathered  half  a 
dozen  Confederate  officers  of  rank,  and  there  was 
high  excitement  in  their  talk.  Norman  could  hear 
the  eager  words  of  one  speaker.  He  was  urging 
that  they  should  not  wait  for  morning;  that 
every  available  man  should  be  sent  forward  at 
once  to  hold  the  wood  roads  and  check  the  Fed- 


288  NORMAN  HOLT 

eral  advance.  Another,  older,  graver,  pointed 
out  that  by  this  time  those  captured  dispatches 
were  in  the  hands  of  General  Hardee,  who  would 
notify  General  Bragg  without  delay,  and  prob 
ably  have  his  divisions  in  march  for  McMinnville 
by  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  if  not  before. 
On  all  hands  it  was  agreed  that  the  capture  of 
those  papers  was  another  feather  in  the  cap  of 
Joe  Wheeler's  cavalry  corps.  From  time  to  time 
the  surgeon  came  softly  in  and  bent  over  him  to 
say  an  encouraging  word.  Sorely  wounded  was 
the  prisoner,  and  among  chivalric  men  a  wounded 
foe  was  a  sacred  charge,  and  chivalric  men  were 
many  on  both  sides.  According  to  the  school  of 
surgery  in  force  in  the  earlier  days  of  the  war  the 
patient  should  already  be  upon  the  table,  the 
knife  and  saw  severing  the  shattered  member 
from  the  shoulder;  but  there  was  no  table,  and 
the  surgeon  was  of  a  younger,  more  optimistic, 
line.  But  he  had  not  scrupled  to  administer 
opiates  to  dull  the  senses  and  to  deaden  pain, 
and  under  the  soothing  influence  of  the  drug  Nor 
man  lay,  half  dozing,  when  there  came  the  sound 
of  new  arrivals  in  the  outer  room,  the  clank  of 
swords,  and  the  harsh  screech  of  chairs  shoved 
suddenly  backward  over  uncarpeted  floors.  Every 
man  seemed  to  have  sprung  to  his  feet  in  ac 
knowledgment  of  the  coming  of  a  General  of 
rank,  and  there  entered  a  man  at  sound  of  whose 
voice  there  swept  over  the  senses  of  the  wounded 
captive  a  strange  flood  of  memories.  He  was 
again  at  the  Point,  a  "plebe,"  and  that  voice 
had  prompted  him  day  after  day  upon  the  drill 


UNDER  FALSE  ORDERS  289 

ground  or  parade.  Then  a  yearling  corporal,  and 
that  voice  had  hailed  him  in  glad,  cordial  con 
gratulation.  Those  were  days  when  the  chevrons 
were  found  most  frequently  on  the  sleeves  of  lads 
who  hailed  from  the  Southern  states,  and  Ala 
bama,  stripping  off  the  gold  bars  and  black  of  a 
cadet  lieutenant,  had  handed  them  to  the  tall 
stripling  from  Kentucky  and  bidden  him  wear 
them  in  the  by  and  by.  Norman  would  have 
known  the  cordial  tones  the  world  over,  yet  lay 
there  silent,  as  presently  there  entered  a  slender, 
undersized,  yet  soldierly  young  man  in  the  full 
uniform  of  a  Major-General  of  the  Confederate 
service,  his  thin  face  covered  by  a  dark,  pointed 
beard.  With  him  there  came  another  General, 
older,  sharper,  and  sterner  of  visage,  but  soldier 
all  over ;  then  two  staff  officers,  bearing  candles 
and  holding  respectfully  back.  The  first  to  enter 
had  in  his  hand  one  of  the  captured  dispatches. 
He  was  too  diminutive  of  stature  to  bend  over 
the  prostrate  Kentuckian,  but  he  spoke  in  gentle, 
courteous  tone. 

"My  officers  tell  me  you  made  a  most  gallant 
attempt  to  rescue  that  dispatch  bag,  sir,  and  I 
deeply  regret  to  hear  you  are  so  severely  hurt. 
I  am  compelled  to  go  on  farther  to-night,  but 
General  Morgan  makes  his  headquarters  here,  and 
we  wish  to  know,  sir,  if  we  can  do  anything  to 
make  you  more  comfortable?" 

Norman,    closing   his   eyes,    faintly   shook    his 

head.    It  was  evident  the  General  did  not  know 

him.    It  was  four  years  since  their  last  meeting— 

the  night  the  little  Southron  first  called  him  Nor- 

19 


290  NORMAN  HOLT 

man — the  night  he,  half  timidly,  had  answered 
"Joe." 

"I  beg  that  you  will  not  hesitate  to  ask,"  per 
sisted  the  General.  "As  soldiers,  we  cannot  but 
admire  soldier  daring  and  devotion,  such  as  you 
displayed.  What  we  cannot  understand  is  why  a 
courier,  with  such  important  orders,  should  have 
ventured  so  far  out  as  to  lose  both  them  and  his 
own  life.  He  never  spoke  after  our  fellows  reached 
him." 

Norman  unclosed  his  eyes — looking  up  in  pain. 
"Is  he  killed?"  he  faintly  asked. 

"Yes,  he  was  evidently  shot  as  he  was  trying 
to  gallop  away.  He  died  an  hour  ago." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  broken  by  the 
sighing  of  the  wind  about  the  rafters  of  the  old 
farmhouse,  and  in  the  leaves  among  the  trees. 
A  crazy,  antiquated  clock  in  the  main  room 
struck  a  jangled  three  on  its  spiral  wire,  and  a 
sentry  somewhere  without  sharply  challenged: 
"Who  comes  there?" 

"Staff  officer  from  General  Hardee,"  rang  out 
the  answer,  followed  by  the  clatter  of  hoofs  and 
jangling  of  scabbard,  and  then  the  sharp  query : 

"Where's  General  Wheeler?  I  must  see  him  at 
once!" 

"Right  here,  sir,"  shouted  a  voice  in  answer, 
and  the  next  instant  a  tall,  distinguished-looking 
soldier  strode  into  the  room,  a  major  of  the  staff, 
his  dark  eyes  snapping  with  excitement.  Up  went 
one  hand  to  his  forage  cap,  as  with  the  other  he 
extended  a  dispatch  to  the  little  cavalry  com 
mander. 


UNDER  FALSE  ORDERS  291 

"General  Wheeler,"  lie  exclaimed,  "General Bragg 
telegraphs  to  stop  the  move  at  once.  The  whole 
thing  is  a  fraud.  Van  Dorn  reports  the  Federal 
army  is  in  front  of  Columbia." 

"In  front  of  Columbia!  These  dispatches  false! 

Then  how  comes  it  that  this  gentleman "  And 

with  troubled,  wondering  eyes  the  General  turned 
again  to  the  couch— whose  occupant  appeared  to 
have  fainted  away. 

The  new-comer  sprang  to  the  bedside,  gave  one 
look  at  the  waxen  face,  and  a  stifled  cry  burst 
from  his  lips :  "Norman !  Norman !  O  my  God !" 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

"A  LIE,  AND  YOU  KNOW  IT" 

August,  and  it  seemed  as  though  the  Southern 
cause  were  lost  at  last.  Lee,  idol  of  the  Confed 
eracy,  had  fought  his  greatest  battle  in  the  heart 
of  Pennsylvania,  and  been  driven  back  into  Vir 
ginia.  Gettysburg  in  the  east  and  Vicksburg  in 
the  west  had  restored  hope  and  courage  in  the 
North,  had  dealt  amaze  and  distress  throughout 
—though  nothing  seemed  to  daunt  the  courage 
of— the  South.  Then,  east  and  west,  both  armies, 
both  sections,  seemed  to  hold  their  breath  and 
wait  and  watch  the  midway  grapple  imminent 
along  the  Tennessee.  Most  brilliantly,  most  skill 
fully,  had  "Old  Rosey"  outmaneuvered  Bragg, 
who  abandoned  his  strong  works  at  Shelbyville, 
and  the  mountain  line  of  the  Cumberlands,  and 
reluctantly  fell  back  across  the  swollen  river  to 
make  henceforth,  as  he  wrote,  their  "line  of  de 
fense  the  line  of  Tennessee."  But  even  then  he 
was  not  permitted  to  rest,  for  the  strategist  of 
the  Union  army,  the  head  of  the  Army  of  the 
Cumberland,  devised  the  daring, plan  of  throwing 
his  three  corps  across  two  great  mountain  ranges, 
split  by  a  wide,  unfordable,  swollen  river,  and 
thus  maneuver  his  antagonist  out  of  Chatta 
nooga  as  a  month  before  he  had  from  Tullahoma. 


"A  LIE,  AND  YOU  KNOW  IT9  398 

And  so,  while  Minty's  Horse  and  Crittenden's 
swift-footed  infantry  threatened  the  enemy  at 
every  landing,  pass,  and  ferry  above  that  well- 
named  gateway,  and  kept  Bragg  guessing  whence 
the  blow  would  come,  the  other  corps,  McCook 
and  Thomas  in  command,  stole  from  their  hiding- 
places  back  of  the  Cumberland  range,  burst 
through  the  mountain  roads,  and  bore  down  on 
the  Tennessee  below  the  fated  city— our  snapping- 
eyed  little  division  leader,  Sheridan,  in  the  van. 
The  next  thing  Bragg  knew  McCook  and  Thomas 
were  climbing  the  mountain  passes  of  northern 
Georgia,  miles  behind  him,  and  there  was  no  help 
for  it— he  had  to  abandon  Chattanooga  and  sally 
forth  to  meet  them.  Before  the  end  of  August  the 
old  flag  was  floating  again  over  the  roofs  of  their 
stronghold  in  the  mountains,  and  all  the  north- 
land  rung  with  praise  of  such  magnificent  strat 
egy. 

But  strategy  is  not  convincing.  Battles  only 
are  decisive.  What  good  was  gained  by  placing 
an  army  where  it  was  a  matter  of  such  infinite 
difficulty  to  supply  it,  so  long  as  its  antagonist 
remained  unshattered  in  its  front?  Rosecrans.had 
now  to  fight  a  battle  far  from  possibility  of  help 
of  any  kind.  Bragg  simply  retired  across  another 
range,  drawing  our  army  after  him,  and  Lee  de 
tached  his  strong  right  arm,  Longstreet's  fight 
ing  corps,  to  the  aid  of  the  brethren  waiting  im 
patiently  in  northern  Georgia,  and  then  united, 
the  Southern  leaders  fell  furiously  on  the  Union 
ranks  along  the  crooked  stream,  and  it  was  Stone 
River  over  again,  only  infinitely  worse.  The 


294  NORMAN  HOLT 

corps  of  McCook  and  Crittenden  crumbled  away, 
bearing  even  "Old  Rosey"  with  them  in  full  flight 
to  Chattanooga,  leaving,  as  before,  the  lion-hearted 
Thomas  to  stem  the  tide  of  triumphant  pursuit, 
and  there  win  the  immortal  name  of  the  Rock  of 
Chickamauga. 

But  there  had  been  strange  doings  in  Chatta 
nooga  during  the  week  preceding  Bragg's  enforced 
evacuation.  Thither,  late  in  July,  had  they  borne 
our  wounded  Norman.  There  had  been  a  few 
days  for  him  of  imminent  peril,  for  there  were 
not  lacking  Southern  generals  high  in  rank  who 
believed  that  he,  not  the  secret  service,  had 
brought  those  "bogus"  dispatches  to  the  front, 
with  the  deliberate  design  of  falling  into  Confed 
erate  hands,  and  throwing  Bragg  and  his  corps 
commanders  upon  a  false  scent.  "It  was  no 
better  than  being  a  spy,"  swore  one  furious 
leader,  who  had  made  a  long,  tedious,  toilsome 
mountain  march  in  one  direction  to  head  off  the 
Federal  force  that  had  gone  in  quite  another. 
It  was  Van  Dorn's  cavalry,  far  out  at  Columbia, 
that  ascertained  just  which  way  Thomas  and 
Crittenden  were  coming.  There  rarely  was  a  time 
from  beginning  to  end  of  the  war  when  the  South 
ern  leaders  were  not  quickly  and  reliably  informed 
of  every  movement  made  by  our  men.  It  took 
less  than  twenty-four  hours  to  restore  the  situa 
tion,  and  gradually  the  cries  against  the  wounded 
Yankee  died  away.  There  was  his  brother,  Major 
Holt,  serving  for  the  time  on  Hardee's  staff,  ready 
to  give  his  knightly  word  that  Norman  had  well- 
nigh  lost  his  life  in  the  effort  to  prevent  those 


"A  LIE,  AND  YOU  KNOW  IT"  295 

very  dispatches  from  falling  into  Confederate 
hands,  so  that  disposed  of  one  peril,  but  left  him 
another — faced  by  fever. 

It  "was  a  sorely  stricken  fellow  they  nursed  for 
a  fortnight  there  in  the  old  homestead  in  the 
fastnesses  of  the  Cumberland.  Henry  had  to  go, 
because  his  General  had  mighty  need  of  every 
man,  but  there  speedily  came  from  Chattanooga 
a  gray-haired,  sad-faced  old  gentleman  who  knelt 
beside  the  bed  of  the  delirious  boy  and  wept  as 
he  listened  to  his  childish  babbling.  Over  and 
over  in  feverish  dream  poor  Norman  lived  again 
the  misery  of  his  father's  wrath  and  disowning, 
pleading  with  him  not  to  believe  his  son  guilty 
of  base,  unfilial  conduct.  Over  and  over  again  he 
seemed  to  live  through  the  horror  of  that  night 
at  Belleview.  The  death  sentence,  the  execution 
ceremonies,  interrupted  only  at  the  last  moment, 
were  as  nothing  in  comparison  with  that.  Rude 
soldiery,  uncouth  mountaineers,  saw  the  father's 
grief  and  dread  with  pitying,  sympathetic  eyes, 
and  rejoiced  with  him  when  at  last  the  life  light 
seemed  to  come  fluttering  back  to  Norman's  face. 

Before  he  was  fairly  conscious  the  order  came 
to  send  him  on  to  Chattanooga,  for  Crittenden 
was  in  the  hills.  Toward  the  end  of  July  they 
bore  him  through  the  Sequatchie  Valley  and 
across  the  Tennessee.  Before  the  end  of  August 
the  Yankee  shells  were  bursting  over  the  devoted 
town  and  another  move  was  needed,  but  this 
time  Norman  could  travel  in  saddle.  His  arm 
was  slung  and  strapped  to  the  body, — no  need  to 
ask  him  for  parole  not  to  escape.  But,  during 


NORMAN  HOLT 

the  three  weeks  in  Chattanooga  the  aged  fathef 
and  the  two  gallant  sons  had  had  long,  sad, 
solemn  conferences— yet  almost  happy  hours  to 
gether—for  though  enemies  still  in  the  sight  of 
the  laws  of  war,  there  had  been  perfect  under 
standing,  reconciliation,  and  mutual  forgiveness. 
Each  had  acted  according  to  his  information  and 
conviction.  The  fire  and  fury  of  the  father's  rage 
against  the  North  had  burned  itself  out.  He  saw 
the  ruin  that  had  come  upon  the  land  he  loved. 
They  must  fight  now  to  the  bitter  end,  but  there 
was  no  longer  feud  at  heart  between  himself  and 
his  "little  Benjamin,"  his  big,  beloved  boy,  now 
grown  a  man.  The  stanch  old  Southerner  grieved 
bitterly  that  the  son  had  chosen  -with  the  Union 
cause,  yet  gloried  in  the  rally  of  the  Buckeyes  at 
Stone  River — all  Norman's  doing,  as  he  proudly 
told  himself,  and  this  deed  was  only  one  of  many. 
Had  not  Wheeler's  young  gallants  described  the 
magnificent  dash  and  daring  of  Norman's  at 
tempt  to  save  the  abandoned  dispatches?  Had 
not  prisoners  from  Sheridan's  division  dilated  on 
his  heroism  that  bloody  day — the  last  of  '62? 
Had  not  the  father  sought,  found,  and  skillfully 
attended  the  captive  squadron  leader,  Wing,  and 
learned  from  him  all  about  the  night  ride  to 
Belleview — how  it  was  Malloy  who  gave  Nor 
man's  name  as  guide  to  the  commanding  officer — 
how  Norman  had  pleaded  for  relief  when  the  Gap 
was  fairly  passed,  even  when  he  believed  Belle- 
view  to  be  unoccupied  by  any  of  his  kith  and 
kin?  Through  Wing  the  father  had  gone  further 
still,  found  other  soldiers  whose  fate  was  intri- 


"A  LIE,  AND  YOU  KNOW  IT"  297 

cately  connected  with  that  of  his   beloved,    his 
misguided,  boy. 

It  was  a  great  day  when,  away  back  at  Rome, 
he  found  and  questioned  Connelly,  still  feeble 
from  his  injuries  and  from  prison  fever,  but  clear 
headed  and  emphatic.  It  was  a  strange  day 
when,  late  in  August,  in  the  streets  of  Chatta 
nooga,  as  they  took  the  road  for  Rossville  Gap 
en  route  to  Dalton,  Norman  and  his  father  came 
face  to  face  with  Theodore  Lane,  dressed  in  Con 
federate  uniform.  Unable  to  bear  the  privation 
of  prison  life  with  its  squalor  and  semi-starvation, 
the  weakling  had  offered  his  services  on  any 
terms,  had  declared  himself  a  voluntary  deserter 
from  the  army  of  the  Union,  and  they  put  him  on 
duty  in  the  dispensary  of  the  hospital,  where,  so 
long  as  their  scant  supply  of  wines  and  liquor 
was  kept  under  lock  and  key,  he  could  do  no 
great  harm.  There  was  a  scene  at  which  guards, 
teamsters,  drivers  and  frowsy  darkies  gazed  open- 
mouthed  when  the  gray-haired  old  doctor  sprang 
from  his  vehicle  and  begged  for  a  horsewhip  with 
which  to  chastise  that  lying,  low-lived,  two-faced 
cur.  It  was  Norman  who  dragged  his  father  back 
and  sought  to  pacify  him,  while  Theodore  miser 
ably  shook  and  almost  wept.  They  left  the 
wretched  lad  whining  in  the  streets,  and  when 
the  doctor  had  sufficiently  cooled  down,  entered 
the  hospital  where  still  lingered  certain  helpless 
wounded,  too  badly  crippled  to  be  worth  any 
thing  to  either  side,  and  therefore  left  by  the 
astute  leader  of  the  Southern  host  to  be  cared  for 
by  the  North;  and  here,  for  the  first  time  since 


298  NORMAN  HOLT 

the  dawn  of  that  black  morning  at  Belleview, 
met  the  captain  of  the  assaulting  squadron-— who 
would  never  charge  again,  for  two  clumsy  crutch 
es  took  the  place  of  the  left  leg,  lost  above  the 
knee— and  his  sad-faced  guide,  now  an  officer  of 
distinguished  record,  even  though  for  the  time  at 
least,  like  himself,  a  prisoner. 

That  conference  was  one  that  speedity  bore 
fruit.  It  was  soon  after  Chickamauga,  bloodiest 
battle  of  the  western  war,  when  from  the  sum 
mits  of  both  Lookout  Mountain  and  Mission 
Ridge  the  victorious  Southerners  looked  down 
upon  their  almost  helpless  foemen,  penned  like 
cattle  in  Chattanooga,  that  a  dramatic  and  ex 
citing  scene  took  place  in  the  camp  of  Sheridan's 
division.  They  were  sore-headed  men,  for,  just 
as  at  Stone  River,  they  had  lost  a  noble  and  be 
loved  brigade  commander.  Caught  in  the  whirl, 
stricken  in  flank  and  never  having  a  "square 
show"  from  start  to  finish,  they  had  been  swept 
from  the  field  without  a  chance  to  hit  back. 
Then,  as  though  to  punish  them  for  what  they 
could  not  well  prevent,  the  corps  of  McCook  and 
Crittenden  were  telescoped  into  one,  renumbered 
the  Fourth.  Their  old  Generals  were  ordered 
north  to  answer  for  their  misfortune  to  a  court  of 
inquiry.  A  new  commander  was  put  at  the  head 
of  the  new  corps,  and  even  the  rumor  that  the 
man  the  whole  army  honored  was  to  become 
chief  of  the  Army  of  the  Cumberland  failed  to 
reconcile  many  a  soldier  to  the  inevitable  parting 
with  their  brilliant  leader,  "Old  Rosey."  There 
were  sore  hearts  all  about  the  intrenched  camps 


"A  LIE,  AND  YOU  KNOW  IT"  299 

of  Chattanooga.  There  were  sore  heads  on  the 
Southern  side,  for  though  Bragg  had  driven  the 
Union  right  in  disorder  from  the  field  of  Chicka- 
mauga,  even  with  overwhelming  numbers  he 
could  not  budge  Thomas  at  the  left,  and  the  fear 
ful  loss  of  twenty  thousand  killed  and  wounded 
in  the  Confederate  host  attested  the  desperate 
nature  of  the  conflict. 

They  were  talking  of  the  situation  at  Sheridan's 
headquarters  one  crisp  October  evening,  but  the 
little  chief  himself  was  fitful  and  preoccupied.  He 
was  evidently  thinking  of  other  matters,  while 
certain  brigade  and  regimental  commanders  were 
seated  about  the  campfire,  and  the  talk  was 
brisk  and  at  times  pointed.  Sheridan  seemed 
consumed  with  impatience.  Every  now  and  then 
he  arose  and  moved  restlessly  about,  gazing  off 
into  the  darkness  where  lay  the  road  to  town. 
Tattoo  was  sounding  in  many  a  regimental  camp 
about  him  before  the  sound  of  horses'  feet  squash 
ing  in  the  mud  announced  the  coming  of  visitors, 
and  an  aide-de-camp  in  a  low  tone  said:  "Here 
they  are,  General." 

Just  outside  the  circle  of  firelight  there  dis 
mounted  three  officers,  who,  leaving  their  horses 
with  the  orderly,  came  slowly  forward  and  sa 
luted  the  chief,  who  led  them  within  a  big  hos 
pital  tent,  and  briefly  saying  "the  other"  would 
be  here  in  a  minute,  bade  them  be  seated.  Some 
camp  lanterns  stood  on  a  pine  table.  Two  others 
hung  from  the  ridgepole  and  a  third  was  dimly 
glowing  in  a  smaller  tent  at  the  rear,  its  opening 
abutting  against  the  back  of  a  larger  one.  The 


300  NORMAN  HOLT 

flap  was  down,  but  there  was  murmured  conver 
sation  going  on  which  seemed  to  cease  abruptly 
as  two  officers  joined  the  party  in  the  office  tent. 
There  was  a  cordial  exchange  of  greeting  on  the 
part  of  most  of  those  present,  but  manifest  and 
sudden  nervousness  and  embarrassment  in  the 
manner  of  at  least  one— Major  Malloy,  of  the 
— th  Ohio.  Colonel  Pride,  with  a  slight  limp  still 
perceptible  in  his  walk,  crossed  over  and  shook 
hands  cordially  with  Major  Lane  of  the  judge- 
advocate's  department,  who  had  ridden  out  from 
town  accompanied  by  Colonel  Bob  Enyart,  now 
commanding  the  — th  Kentucky,  and  one  of  Sheri 
dan's  aids.  Malloy  shook  hands  effusively  with 
Lane,  who  looked  a  bit  bewildered,  but  when  the 
young  major  turned  as  though  to  offer  his  hand 
to  the  Kentucky  colonel,  that  gentleman  was 
engrossed  in  lively  exchange  of  banter  with  his 
comrade  eagle-bearer  from  the  Buckeye  State. 
Malloy's  portly  colonel  looked  oddly  from  one  to 
another.  It  was  apparent  to  him  at  once  that 
something  unusual  was  in  the  wind.  As  for 
Enyart  and  Pride,  they  now  commanded  rival 
regiments.  "Bob"  had  his  heart's  desire — one,  at 
kast— at  last. 

Then  Sheridan,  who  had  stepped  an  instant 
into  the  little  tent  in  the  rear,  returned,  dropping 
the  flap  behind  him,  and  the  party  settled  into 
seats. 

"Colonel  Enyart,"  said  the  chief,  "will  state  the 
object  of  the  meeting." 

"Concisely,  General,  it  is  this,"  said  Bob. 
"Lieutenant  Holt  of  my  regiment  is  wounded  and 


"A  LIE,  AND  YOU  KNOW  IT"  301 

a  prisoner  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy.  We  of 
Kentucky  regard  him  as  a  most  gallant  officer 
and  a  thoroughbred  gentleman.  We  have  been 
striving  for  his  exchange,  but  there  is  a  hitch  be 
cause  of  stories  vastly  to  his  discredit  that  have 
been  brought  to  corps  and  army  headquarters,  as 
Major  Lane  here  can  tell  us.  Mr.  Holt  is  defense 
less  in  his  absence,  and  his  friends  have  taken 
this  matter  up.  The  stories  have  been  traced, 
without  exception,  to  an  officer  now  present — 
Major  Malloy  of  your  division.  A  court  being  out 
of  the  question,  we  have  asked  you  to  hear  both 
sides  and  adjudicate.  I  now  ask  Major  Malloy 
to  repeat  in  this  presence  the  story  he  has  told 
Major  Lane  and  a  dozen  other  officers  reflecting 
on  the  character  of  Lieutenant  Holt." 

There  was  an  awful  silence.  Lane  perceptibly 
winced  at  Eny art's  almost  abrupt  announcement. 
Malloy  turned  almost  gray.  This  was  something 
far  different  from  whispering  to  individual  ears. 

"I  don't  recognize  the  colonel's  right,"  he  finally 
began,  looking  nervously  and  appealingly  at  the 
division  commander,  who,  having  seated  himself 
with  his  back  to  the  table,  was  gazing  straight 
into  Malloy's  twitching  face. 

"Well,  I've  heard  these  stories,"  said  Sheridan, 
sharply.  "I'm  responsible  for  that  officer's  ap 
pointment,  and  if  he's  unworthy  I  have  a  right 
to  know  it,  and  why.  We  needn't  go  into  that 
matter  of  sleeping  on  post.  That  the  President 
has  settled.  You  are  reported  as  having  said  you 
could  prove  he  led  Wing's  squadron  into  ambus 
cade.  By  whom?" 


302  NORMAN  HOLT 

"By  Captain  Wing  himself,  General,  if  he  were 
not  a  prisoner,  and  by  non-commissioned  officers 
who  rode  with  them  that  night." 

"How  do  you  know  this,  Major?  You  haven't 
seen  Captain  Wing  since  the  affair." 

Malloy's  face  was  white,  and  well  it  might  be, 
but  his  nerve  was  steady.  He  must  face  the 
music  now  or  go  to  ruin  on  the  spot,  and  he 
realized  it.  The  answer  came,  and  it  was  given 
with  unflinching  eyes,  with  a  voice  that  never 
trembled. 

"I  have  not  seen  him,  sir,  but  I  have  seen  his 
letter,  giving  detailed  account  of  the  affair,  in 
which  he  clearly  shows  that  Mr.  Holt  knew  of 
the  presence  of  the  rebel  cavalry  at  Belleview,  and 
that  after  giving  warning  to  them,  he  deliberately 
led  Wing  into  the  trap." 

The  silence  that  followed  was  impressive  and 
for  the  moment  intense.  Sheridan  sat  glowering 
into  the  speaker's  face,  as  though  half  dazed  by 
the  cool,  confident  words,  and  half  disposed  to 
further  questioning.  Whatever  were  his  emotions, 
they  were  speedily  put  to  flight.  Whirling  abrupt 
ly  toward  the  rear  of  the  tent  he  signaled  to  a 
blonde-mustached  captain  who  stood  at  the  flap, 
and  who  quickly  raised  it,  revealing  to  those 
who  happened  to  be  looking  that  way  a  tall 
figure;  a  gaunt,  thin-faced,  haggard  man,  who 
swung  a  pace  or  two  forward  on  his  crutches, 
and  in  a  voice  in  which  contempt,  disdain,  and 
wrath  were  mingled,  deliberately  said: 

"That's  a  damned  lie,  Malloy,  and  joa  know 
it!" 


CHAPTER  XXV 

A  DOUBLE  ESCAPE 

The  Fourth  Corps  was  in  a  ferment;  the  Second 
Division  almost  in  a  tempest,  of  which  Harker's 
Brigade  was  the  vortex.  There  was  a  vacancy  in 
the  office  of  major— th  Ohio.  Officers  from  half 
a  dozen  Kentucky  regiments  were  out  with  kin 
dling  eyes  and  chips  on  their  shoulder-straps. 
Gaffiiey— major  at  last  of  the  Buckeyes— was 
going  from  camp  to  camp  taking  two  fingers  to 
Kentucky's  one  in  every  toddy,  sparing  neither 
his  own  stomach  nor  anybody's  Monongahela, 
which  was  worth  a  dollar  a  drink  and  couldn't 
be  bought  for  money.  Wing,  "with  the  left  leg 
gone  and  the  right  leg  left,"  as  Gaffney  said,  was 
the  hero  of  the  hour,  but  the  case  for  Malloy  had 
been  left  without  even  one  leg  to  stand  on.  Col 
onel  Pride  of  the  Buckeyes,  but  recently  returned 
from  leave,  with  an  abundant  supply  of  ardent 
hopes,  a  moderate  ditto  of  spirits,  and  an  ex 
pressed  opinion  of  Senator  Malloy  that  will  not 
bear  publication,  invited  the  officers  to  his  tent 
to  drink  "Long  life  to  the  lad  that  ought  to  be 
one  of  us  and  confusion  to  the  cad  that  prevented 
it!"  while  the  Emmets  invited  themselves  to  a 
near-by  ravine,  where  many  were  found  in  the 
morning  along  with  an  empty  "kag,"  filched 


304  NORMAN  HOLT 

when  much  more  than  half  full  from  the  colonel's 
tent  during  the  dead  hours  of  the  night. 

Oh,  but  that  was  a  wondrous  night  in  the  Second 
Division !  Such  was  the  close  contact  of  men  and 
brethren  in  those  crowded  camps  that  the  story 
of  the  scene  at  Sheridan's  tent  was  all  over  the 
corps  within  twenty-four  hours,  with  additions 
and  improvements  that  made  it  a  mad  success. 
One  thing,  however,  as  told,  was  probably  true — 
Malloy  had  gone  to  the  devil  or  the  enemy,  and 
few  men  seemed  to  care  which.  Not  only  had 
Wing  denounced  him  as  a  liar  and  declared  that 
he  had  never  written  such  a  letter,  but  also  as  a 
scoundrel  who  would  drug  a  man's  coffee  that  he 
might  swear  him  to  death  for  sleeping  on  post. 
This,  too,  in  the  presence  and  hearing  of  Sheridan, 
of  Colonel  Pride  of  the  Buckeyes,  Enyart  of  the 
Kentuckies,  and  even  the  portly  chief  of  Malloy's 
own  regiment,  the  — th  Ohio.  Wing  declared  that 
when  Connelly  was  told  in  prison  by  Dr.  Holt 
that  Malloy  had  sworn  before  the  Nashville  court 
that  he,  Connelly,  had  crossed  that  bridge  with 
out  orders  of  any  kind,  and  that  Norman  Holt 
was  asleep  on  post,  the  wrath  of  the  wronged 
and  suffering  soldier  was  intense.  He  wept  in  his 
weakness  as  he  declared  that  Norman's  story  was 
absolutely  true — that  Malloy  did  say,  "Go;  it 
would  be  a  feather  in  the  cap  of  the  Emmets." 
It  was  then  at  last  the  poor  fellow  realized  that 
Jiis  officer  had  made  a  victim  of  him  in  order  to 
£lear  the  way  for  his  plot  against  Holt.  It  was 
then  that  he  announced  his  remembering  having 
seen  the  lieutenant  recorking  that  canteen  after 


A  DOUBLE  ESCAPE  305 

slipping  something  into  it  that,  at  the  time,  hon 
es  c  Connelly  supposed  was  only  sugar.  Sheridan 
and  his  officers,  springing  from  their  chairs,  stood 
almost  spellbound  as  Wing  launched  his  furious 
denunciation  at  the  luckless  Malloy.  Major  Lane 
alone  remained  seated  as  though  stunned,  his  face 
concealed  for  a  time  in  his  hands.  Vainly  had 
Malloy  stormed,  protested,  and  countered.  "I 
shall  demand  a  court  of  inquiry  at  once,  General,'* 
said  he.  "And  as  for  this  gentleman,  he  shall 
answer  to  me  personally  for  this  infamous  af 
front."  Then  he  had  begged  permission  to  retire 
that  he  might  instantly  make  his  demand  in 
writing,  and  not  a  hand  was  extended  either  to 
support  or  to  withhold.  That  was  their  last 
look  on  the  face  of  Burnett  Malloy. 

When  early  in  the  morning  a  staff  officer  rode 
to  the  camp  of  the  — th  Ohio  with  orders  to  place 
the  major  in  close  arrest  there  was  no  such  func 
tionary  to  be  found.  A  light  was  burning  in  his 
tent  when  his  one  friend,  the  colonel,  returned, 
stunned  and  silent  from  that  dramatic  arraign 
ment,  but  he  could  not  stomach  having  to  speak 
with  Malloy  again.  The  only  man  of  the  regi 
ment  to  see  him  that  night  was  a  lone  sentry, 
pacing  his  post  on  the  flank  of  camp  back  of  the 
field  officers'  tents.  The  major  had  given  the 
countersign  and  passed  out  about  three  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  "carrying  a  thing  like  a  bag." 
The  surrounding  camps,  the  town,  the  road  to 
Lookout,  were  searched,  the  whole  neighborhood 
scoured,  for  there  were  several  officers,  notably 
Major  Lane,  who  thought  that  in  Malloy's  de- 
20 


306  NORMAN  HOLT 

spair,  realizing  as  he  must  that  his  career  was 
ruined,  that  his  resignation  could  never  be  ac 
cepted,  that  dismissal  in  disgrace  and  probably 
incarceration  in  some  penitentiary  would  be  his 
fate,  the  cornered  man  had  committed  suicide. 

But  the  following  night  the  pickets  out  to  the 
southeast  brought  in  two  ragged  Georgians  who 
had  slipped  away  from  the  Southern  lines,  in 
which  they  declared  they  -were  unwillingly  serving, 
and  they  united  in  the  statement  that  a  Yankee 
officer,  a  major,  had  been  captured  by  their  out 
posts  about  four  in  the  morning.  Everybody 
saw  at  once  what  that  meant— Malloy  had  de 
serted  to  the  enemy. 

It  was  a  week  of  episodes  and  excitements  on 
both  sides.  Bragg' s  headquarters  at  the  time 
were  on  the  summit  of  Mission  Ridge,  straight  to 
the  east  from  Sheridan's  line,  and  overlooking  the 
valley  and  the  Union  camps.  What  happened 
there  could  not  be  known  to  Sheridan's  division 
at  the  time,  but  can  readily  be  told  here.  The 
picket  lines  of  the  opposing  forces  in  front  of 
Chattanooga  were  but  a  few  yards  apart,  and 
stretched  from  the  Tennessee  at  the  mouth  of 
Citico  Creek,  a  mile  east  of  the  town,  down 
through  the  open  country  midway  between  the 
Union  intrenchments  and  a  heavily  wooded  mound 
called  Orchard  Knob,  until  they  faced  each  other 
along  the  banks  of  the  Chattanooga  Creek  at 
the  south,  and  so  on  to  the  point  where,  at  the 
northern  base  of  Lookout  Mountain,  the  creek 
empties  into  the  Tennessee.  Now,  it  was  no  easy 
matter  for  any  man  to  slip  out  across  that  line 


A  DOUBLE  ESCAPE  SOT 

except  on  a  dark  night,  but,  once  across,  it  was 
a  very  easy  thing  to  attract  the  attention  of  the 
enemy's  sentries  and  be  "taken  prisoner.'*  This, 
it  eventually  turned  out,  was  Malloy's  method  of 
procedure. 

Just  where  he  managed  to  cross  the  Union  line, 
and  how,  whether  by  bribery  or  adroitness,  could 
not  be  ascertained.  But  the  Georgia  pickets 
claimed  the  credit  of  gobbling  a  Yankee  major, 
who,  when  brought  to  Bragg' s  headquarters  in 
broad  daylight,  declared  he  had  wandered  be 
tween  the  lines  while  making  the  rounds,  had  lost 
his  way,  and  found  himself  right  under  the 
muzzles  of  the  southern  Enfields.  The  sharp,  stern 
order,  "Come  in  here,  Yank!"  brought  him  to 
his  senses  all  too  late.  He  obeyed  because  there 
was  nothing  else  to  do.  The  story  sounded  plau 
sible  for  the  time  being.  Major  Malloy  gave  his 
name,  rank,  and  regiment  without  hesitation, 
begged  that  his  comrades  might  be  informed  by 
flag  of  truce  that  he  was  safe,  uninjured,  and  that 
he  urged  them  to  exert  every  influence  to  effect 
his  exchange  at  once.  He  courteously  asked  to 
be  excused  from  giving  any  information.  Indeed, 
he  really  had  none,  especially  about  Sheridan's 
movements  or  the  coming  of  re-enforcements.  In 
point  of  fact,  Major  Malloy  made  a  very  pleasant 
impression  until,  as  luck  would  have  it,  a  cynic 
appeared  in  the  person  of  Major  Henry  Holt  of 
the  commanding  General's  staff.  Up  to  the  mo 
ment  of  that  officer's  entry  the  prisoner's  manner 
had  been  calm  and  self-possessed ;  then  it  became 
instantly  nervous  and  embarrassed.  Up  to  that 


SOS  NORMAN  HOLT 

moment,  too,  the  manner  of  the  Confederate 
officers  had  been  courteous,  though  somewhat 
cold  and  formal,  but  the  expression  in  Holt's  face 
as  he  stood  sternly  gazing  at  the  new-comer  was 
too  significant. 

"You  gentlemen  seem  to  have  met  before,"  said 
the  General,  looking  quickly  from  one  to  the  other. 

"Yes,"  was  Holt's  instant  answer,  "and  there's 
only  one  way,  General,  in  which  I  desire  to  meet 
that— gentleman  again." 

Explanations,  of  course,  followed,  and  that 
evening  Malloy  was  on  his  way  to  prison,  minus 
boots  and  reputation.  Henry  Holt,  in  a  few 
words,  had  punctured  the  latter,  to  the  end  that 
no  officer  was  at  hand  to  save  when  a  rude 
trooper  relieved  his  prisoner  of  the  former.  Such 
transactions,  under  the  cloak  of  "fair  exchange," 
•were  already  a  military  necessity  in  an  army 
where  sole-leather  was  at  a  premium. 

One  caution  went  with  the  guards  of  the  self- 
sacrificed  major  on  his  southward  -way.  It  was 
considered  wise  to  keep  him  for  the  present 
aloof  from  certain  other  prisoners  from  Ohio  and 
Kentucky — Connelly  having  by  this  time  spread 
abroad  the  story  of  the  major's  crime.  It  was 
well,  too,  that  there  was  little  likelihood  of  his 
coming  in  connection  with  Dr.  Holt  or  Norman. 
It  was  odd  that,  though  Norman  declined  to  ac 
cept  parole,  and  was  now  quite  strong  again,  he 
had  not  been  sent  to  join  the  luckless  array  of 
Union  officers  captured  at  Chickamauga  or  previ 
ous  engagements,  and  now  numerous  in  the  sev 
eral  soldier  prisons  in  Dixie.  The  fractured  bone 


A  DOUBLE  ESCAPE  309 

had  knit,  the  wound  was  healing,  and,  enjoying 
the  best  of  care  and  attention,  he  was  restricted 
to  the  limits  of  the  hospital  square  in  Rome. 
With  his  own  father  ever  at  hand  to  counsel 
and  supervise,  the  recovery  had  been  rapid.  The 
doctor  had  hired  a  buggy,  picked  up  a  horse  too 
old  for  military  service,  and  with  these  was  able 
to  give  his  boy  occasional  drives,  both  being 
"on  honor/'  of  course,  at  such  times,  to  take  no 
undue  advantage  of  the  privilege.  Early  in  Sep 
tember,  when  McCook's  corps  reached  Alpine,  only 
a  few  miles  away,  the  post  commander  took 
alarm,  and  proposed  moving  his  prisoners  south 
ward,  but  McCook  speedily  marched  on  toward 
the  Chickamauga  valley.  The  great  battle  fol 
lowed.  The  invading  army  was  securely  penned 
up  at  Chattanooga,  and  vigilance  at  Rome  and 
Dalton  was  relaxed.  Henry  sent  his  body  ser 
vant,  one  of  the  Belleview  boys,  who  had  been 
devoted  to  the  brothers  from  their  babyhood,  to 
wait  on  his  father,  and  do  what  he  could — do 
everything  he  could,  in  fact — for  Marse  Norman. 
And  this  was  the  situation  so  far  as  the  Holts 
were  concerned  at  the  time  of  Malloy's  voluntary 
move  into  hostile  territory. 

"Norman  and  he  must  not  meet,"  said  Major 
Holt  to  his  friend,  the  chief  of  staff,  as  the  dis 
graced  officer  was  led  away.  "What  if  Malloy 
and  Norman  Holt  should  meet,"  was  the  sugges 
tion  that  occurred  to  Enyart,  who  lost  no  time 
in  writing  to  Kate  Ray  of  Malloy's  collapse. 
"What  if  Malloy  and  Norman  do  meet?"  said 
Gaffney  and  the  surviving  Emmets,  filled  with 


310  NORMAN  HOLT 

Hibernian  concern  at  thought  of  missing  the  sight 
of  the  resultant  fracas.  "What  if  Theodore  and 
Malloy  again  meet, "thought  Major  Lane,  vaguely 
dreading  it  as  something  sure  to  involve  his 
feather-brained  son  in  further  trouble. 

The  meeting  Lane  so  feared  came  off  that  very 
night,  at  Dalton,  where  Theodore  had  been  sent 
with  the  dispensary  of  the  Confederate  hospital. 
And  that  temptation  should  be  set  in  Theodore's 
way,  and  he  fall  into  the  toils,  might  readily  be 
foretold.  The  father's  forebodings  were  destined 
to  be  realized,  but  that  was  all,  for  on  the  fifth 
morning  after  the  escape  of  Major  Malloy  from 
Sheridan's  lines,  the  division  woke  up  electrified 
by  the  news  that  honors  were  easy— that  a  Con 
federate  officer  of  equal  rank  had  been  caught  by 
the  pickets  in  front  of  the  right  and  taken  to 
Sheridan's  tent  at  reveille.  Barely  was  the  story 
started  when  another  followed— that  the  captured 
soldier  was  none  other  than  Major  Henry  Holt. 

Bob  Enyart  was  just  turning  out  when  the  act 
ing  adjutant  came  hastening  in  with  the  news. 
Bob  changed  color  and  said  he  reckoned  there  must 
be  a  mistake.  Henry  Holt  wasn't  a  man  "to  be 
foolin'  round  outside  his  picket  line  when  there 
was  no  occasion  for  such — foolishness;"  but  the 
adjutant  was  insistent;  Captain  Preston,  officer 
of  the  day,  saw  him  as  he  was  escorted  to  divis 
ion  headquarters,  and  if  it  wasn't  Henry  Holt, 
then  he  didn't  know  a  Holt  from  a  handsaw. 
Enyart  was  troubled.  There  was  another  letter 
to  Kate  Ray,  finished  the  night  before,  all  ready 
to  go  at  once  by  cavalry  post  over  the  Cumber- 


A  DOUBLE  ESCAPE  311 

lands,  and  the  orderly  would  call  for  it  at  seven. 
There  was  time,  just  time,  for  a  postscript,  pro- 
vided  the  story  were  true.  He  knew  full  well  how 
important  a  piece  of  information  that  might  be. 
He  knew  that  all  through  the  gallant  regiment 
which  he  now  had  the  honor  to  command,  it  was 
believed  that  Kate  Ray,  if  not  actually  engaged  to 
Harry  Holt,  would  be  the  instant  she  could  say 
the  word.  Bob  was  a  gentleman  and  a  soldier, 
and  Kate  Ray  was  "all  the  world"  in  his  eyes. 
All  might  be  fair  in  love  and  war,  but  only  when 
it  was  fair  and  chivalric.  Such  was  his  Kentucky 
code.  "Tell  the  mail  orderly  not  to  go  till  I 
come  back,"  said  he  to  his  servant,  as  he  hur 
riedly  dressed,  then  hastened  to  division  head 
quarters. 

Yes,  there  at  the  tent  of  the  adjutant-general 
stood  a  squad  of  muddy  men  in  blue,  with  the 
unmistakable,  up-all-night  look  of  the  picket 
guard  in  the  face  of  the  foe.  The  General  had  been 
called  and  was  dressing,  said  the  field  officer  of 
the  day,  who  came  hurriedly  forth  and  looked 
about,  impatient.  A  tall,  blonde-mustached,  blue- 
eyed  aide-de-camp,  yawning  sleepily,  squeezed  be 
tween  the  front  flaps  of  his  rain-stiffened  tent,  and 
said,  "Where  is  he?"  Whereat  the  officer  of  the 
day  jerked  a  thumb  over  his  shoulder  at  the  office 
tent,  and  thither  strode  the  captain.  "Who  is  it?" 
demanded  Colonel  Bob,  as  the  staff  officer  drew 
nigh.  "Major  Holt,  Bragg's  staff,  by  Jupiter,"  said 
the  interrogated  officer,  never  stopping.  Bob's 
honest  heart  began  to  ache  and  to  ask  whether 
Kelly's  Island,  Sandusky  or  Columbus  would  be 


312  NORMAN  HOLT 

Major  Henry's  probable  destination.  Of  course 
he  would  have  to  go  via  Louisville,  and  of  course, 
if  she  knew  she'd  be  there  to  console  him  as  he 
passed  through.  There  was  still  time  to  write 
that  postscript.  Perhaps,  after  all,  he  ought  to 
see  for  himself.  It  would  only  be  civil  and  cour 
teous  to  inquire  what  he  could  do  for  the  cap 
tive. 

Besides,  he  was  Norman's  brother.  And  so, 
not  too  blithely,  Bob  waded  on — it  was  wofully 
muddy — to  where  the  tent  flaps  stood  invitingly 
open,  just  as  the  little  General  came  shoving  out 
of  his  domicile,  buttoning  the  last  of  the  eighteen 
glistening  semi-globes  that  adorned  the  front  of 
his  double-breasted  frock.  The  aid's  voice  was 
heard  saying  "Why,  hullo!"  which  didn't  seem 
exactly  appropriate.  A  tall,  slender  soldier  in 
Confederate  gray,  his  sleeve  heavily  braided  with 
gold,  stood  revealed,  his  back  turned  to  Enyart, 
his  face  to  the  aid.  The  Kentucky  colonel  sa 
luted  the  division  commander,  who  cheerily  sung 
out  "Morning,  Enyart,"  as  was  his  wont,  and 
pushed  impetuously  in  at  the  entrance;  then 
stopped  short,  gazed,  exclaimed,  "Well,  by  Jove! 
I  supposed  there  was  some  mistake  when  they 
told  me.  Too  much  luck,  you  know,  to  catch  the 
same  fellow  twice,  but  I'd  have  known  you  if  we 
hadn't  met  before— so  like  your  brother."  Where 
upon  the  aid  could  contain  himself  no  longer, 
but  chuckled  aloud  in  his  glee.  The  prisoner  him 
self  beamed  joyfully.  The  General  stared,  whacked 
the  gray  tunic  in  the  broad  of  the  back,  then 
took  the  wearer  delightedly  by  the  hand.  "Holt 


A  DOUBLE  ESCAPE  313 

—God  bless  my  soul!  how  did  you  do  it?"  he 
cried,  and  Enyart,  springing  forward,  his  eyes 
dilating  with  amaze,  came  face  to  face  with 
Norman. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
THE  LEAP  OF  THE  LINE 

Little  time  was  there  to  tell  to  the  rejoicing 
brigade  the  story  of  that  episode.  Literally  had 
Hannibal,  son  of  Harkless,  obeyed  his  master's 
instructions  as  to  the  younger  brother  among  the 
prisoners  at  Rome.  An  old  Southern  inn  had  been 
used  as  a  hospital  for  such  Union  officers  as  were 
sorely  wounded  or  too  ill  to  be  sent  farther  South. 
Henry  made  occasional  visits  from  the  front  and 
Hannibal  went  unmolested  to  and  fro.  Great 
news  reached  them.  Grant  was  at  Chattanooga. 
Sherman  was  coming  with  four  strong  divisions, 
marching  up  the  Tennessee,  and  Hooker  and 
Howard  had  joined  with  their  corps  from  the 
Army  of  the  Potomac,  and  everybody  knew  there 
would  be  music  before  the  end  of  the  month. 
Then  came  tidings  that  all  prisoners  should  be 
started  southward  within  the  week.  Dr.  Holt 
was  away  at  the  moment.  A  remarkable  thing 
had  occurred.  A  political  speaker  of  the  balloon 
type  having  announced  from  the  Ohio  stump  that 
he  was  ashamed  to  live  in  the  United  States, 
ashamed  to  dwell  under  the  wing  of  a  govern 
ment  that  would  attempt  to  coerce  the  seceding 
States,  had  been  actually  taken  at  his  word  by  a 
bewhiskered  General,  who  would  stand  no  non 
sense,  and  to  the  amaze  and  discomfiture  of  State 


THE  LEAP  OF  THE  LINE  315 

Senator  Malloy,  his  political  file  leader  was  po 
litely  sent  over  the  line  to  the  South.  With  Gen 
eral  Burnside's  compliments,  Mr.  Vallandigham  of 
Ohio  was  transferred  to  Dixie,  where  they  had 
no  earthly  use  for  him. 

One  man,  however,  had  need  to  see  him— Dr. 
Holt,  who  had  questions  to  ask  concerning  Mr. 
Malloy  and  meant  to  have  an  answer.  The  doc 
tor  was  gone  when  the  rumor  came  as  to  the 
prospective  move  of  the  prisoners.  It  was  per 
haps  an  only  chance  and  Norman  took  it.  Hen 
ry's  luggage,  in  part,  was  stored  at  Dalton.  Han 
nibal  had  little  trouble — and  no  compunctions — in 
abstracting  therefrom  a  worn  suit  of  uniform. 
Southern  officers  came  and  went  about  the  halls 
and  corridors  at  all  hours,  and  one  evening  a  tall, 
distinguished  major  of  staff  strolled  forth  soon 
after  the  second  relief  had  been  posted  on  the 
square,  was  passed  with  the  customary  honors, 
and,  mounting  a  horse  in  the  adjoining  block, 
was  away  to  Alpine,  bound  for  the  Chattanooga 
valley.  At  four  in  the  morning  Confederate  pick 
ets  were  passing  him  toward  the  front,  '  'riding 
with  dispatches,"  as  he  said.  At  dawn  he  tarried 
near  the  head  of  McLemore's  Cove,  where  at 
nightfall  another  negro  found  him,  as  prear 
ranged,  bringing  a  fresh  horse  and  provisions. 
By  that  time  all  Rome  knew  of  the  escape,  but  no 
one  could  explain  it.  The  second  night,  guided 
by  the  negro  through  many  a  bypath,  he  at  last, 
toward  daybreak,  and  on  foot  now,  slipped 
between  the  sentries  along  lower  Chattanooga 
Creek,  and  '  Surrendered"  at  the  hail  of  Sheridan's 


816  NORMAN  HOLT 

pickets  a  mile  out  from  camp.  He  was  safe 
within  the  Yankee  lines,  and  shaking  hands  with 
Buckeyes  and  Kentuckians  by  the  score,  when  the 
news  was  broken  to  Henry  in  his  roost  on  Mis 
sion  Ridge. 

That  was  one  valuable  accession  to  the  old 
brigade  before  the  coming  battle,  and  the  re 
sources  of  brother  officers  were  taxed  to  fit  him 
out  with  "regimentals."  The  Emmets'  beautiful 
sword,  sash,  and  belt,  the  natty  uniform  he  wore 
when  shot  and  captured,  were  spoils  of  war  that 
disappeared  before  even  his  father  reached  him  on 
the  McMinnville  plateau.  There  -was  another  ac 
cession,  neither  valuable  nor  requiring  uniform,  but 
one  that  created  almost  as  lively  an  excitement 
as  did  the  coming  of  Norman  Holt — one  that  was 
"taken  up"  on  the  morning  report  of  the  Emmets 
as  from  November  20th,  ten  days  after  the  flight  of 
Malloy — Private  Theodore  Lane  from  "deserted" 
to  "present  in  confinement." 

And  when  the  Emmets  heard  the  poor  lad's 
story  the  rage  against  Malloy  redoubled.  "There 
is  joy  over  the  sinner  that  repenteth,"  but  there 
was  genuine  grief  among  many  of  the  rough  fel 
lows  of  Company  "C"  at  sight  of  the  new  pris 
oner's  suffering.  Assured  by  Malloy  at  Dalton 
that  the  charge  of  desertion  against  him  had 
virtually  been  removed;  that  amnesty  was  de 
clared  for  deserters  who  returned  and  reported 
for  duty;  and  then  entrusted  with  urgent  mes 
sages  as  well  as  a  written  scrawl  to  Malloy  Sr., 
Theodore  nad  been  hoodwinked  into  an  attempt 
to  escape  from  the  Confederate  lines,  had  been 


THE  LEAP  OF  THE  LINE  317 

discovered,  fired  upon  as  lie  fled,  and  though  he 
reached  the  Union  picket,  it  was  only  to  fall  in 
terror  and  exhaustion ;  an  Enfield  bullet  had 
pierced  him  through  and  through.  The  surgeons 
said  he  might  linger  a  few  weeks,  but  he  had 
neither  the  stamina  nor  the  constitution  to 
survive.  Borne  painfully  to  hospital  at  Chatta 
nooga,  he  would  have  suffered  even  more  but  for 
the  assiduous  care  of  Norman  Holt.  It  was  at 
the  cot  side  that  at  last  there  met  again  the  young 
Kentucky  soldier  and  the  father  of  the  broken, 
contrite  boy,  and  as  Lane  looked  into  Norman's 
face  with  eyes  that  filled  and  lips  that  twitched 
uncontrollably,  he  wondered  if  the  young  man 
knew  what  was  uppermost  in  his  thoughts-— that 
this  blow  seemed  almost  like  retribution.  Yet  the 
two  pressed  hands,  gravely,  sadly.  There  was 
no  reproach  by  word  or  look.  Then  Norman  had 
to  go.  "To  arms"  was  sounding  at  the  front. 
Sherman  was  in  hiding  beyond  the  northward 
screen  of  hills.  The  pontoons  were  at  the  river 
above  and  below — the  tug  of  war  was  coming. 

Will  it  ever  be  forgotten? — that  soft  November 
morning,  when  the  mists  hung  low  on  the  slopes 
of  the  mountains,  veiling  the  valleys  north  and 
south,  wreathing  the  placid  flood  of  the  Tennes 
see,  rolling  in  fleecy  billows  along  the  rugged 
scarp  of  old  Lookout,  as  the  guns  flashed  and 
thundered  on  the  mighty  hilltops,  crowning  the 
crests  with  smoke  wreaths,  white  as  the  clouds 
beneath,  while  from  the  level  plains  below,  mid 
way  between  the  flanking  hosts  in  gray,  the  men 
of  the  Army  of  the  Cumberland  woke  the  echoing 


318  NORMAN  HOLT 

crags  with  mad  cheers  of  delight,  as,  bursting 
through  the  shrouding  vapor,  peering  above  the 
veil,  glinting,  sparkling  in  the  morning  sunshine, 
the  bayonets  of  Hooker  gleamed  along  the 
heights,  and  from  the  very  point  and  pinnacle  of 
the  grand  old  mountain,  seen  by  friend  and  foe 
alike  through  wide  miles  of  glorious  landscape, 
the  Stars  and  Stripes  were  thrown  to  the  breeze, 
telling  the  glad  news  to  a  waiting  host,  to  a  well- 
nigh  distracted  nation,  that  the  siege  of  Chatta 
nooga  was  raised ;  that  the  lofty  stronghold  of  a 
valiant  and  vigorous  foe  was  won;  that  at  last 
the  rebel  left  was  turned. 

And  now,  with  Sherman  and  their  old  allies  of 
the  Army  of  the  Tennessee  bearing  down  upon 
the  enemy's  right,  hewing  mightily  at  the  north 
ward  defenses  of  Mission  Ridge,  the  men  whom 
Buell  trained  and  "Rosey"  maneuvered  and 
Thomas  gloriously  fought  in  battle,  chafed  and 
clamored  for  their  share  in  the  headlong  fight. 
In  beautiful  array  they  had  been  marched  out 
upon  the  plain,  so  accurate  the  alignment,  so 
machine-like  the  maneuvers,  that  Bragg  and  his 
men  gazed  long  and  admiringly,  believing  it  all 
to  be  some  formation  for  a  grand  review.  But 
every  cartridge  box  and  pocket  was  crammed. 
The  lean  haversacks  of  the  weeks  gone  by  had 
been  fattened  with  jealously  hoarded  rations. 
Every  available  man  was  at  his  post  and  in  every 
heart  was  the  soldier  longing  to  -wipe  out  once 
and  for  all  the  woes  of  the  past — the  bitter  mem 
ories  of  the  left  at  Perry ville,  of  the  right  at  Stone 
River  and  Chickamauga.  These  who  were  sweep- 


THE  LEAP  OF  THE  LINE  319 

ing  the  foe  from  the  range  to  the  west  were  of  the 
Army  of  the  Potomac,  with  the  glory  of  Gettys 
burg  agleam  on  their  banners.  These  who  were 
storming  southward  at  the  range  to  the  east 
were  of  the  Army  of  the  Tennessee — victors  of  Don- 
els  on  and  Yicksburg ;  and  here  on  the  plain,  facing 
full  front  on  Bragg's  challenging  center,  gazing 
aloft  on  a  line  of  heights  bristling  with  guns  in 
battery,  seamed  with  intrenchments,  crowned 
from  north  to  south  with  the  blue-barred,  blood- 
red  battle  flags  of  the  South — here  were  men  of 
the  same  brain  and  brawn  and  lineage,  beg 
ging  only  for  opportunity  to  show  their  mettle, 
and  yet  being  unaccountably  held  in  leash.  A 
black  rumor  was  going  the  rounds  that  Grant 
had  written  to  Sherman,  or  said  to  somebody, 
that  "these  men  of  Thomas's  were  so  demoralized 
by  Chickainauga  that  they  couldn't  be  got  out 
of  their  trenches"  to  fight.  Yet  here  they  were 
well  out  of  the  trenches.  There  was  the  foe 
flaunting  his  flags  in  their  very  faces.  What 
mattered  it  that  the  heights  were  heavily  held 
and  fortified? — that  fifty  guns  were  trained  upon 
them? — that  thirty  thousand  veterans  with  steady 
nerves  and  vengeful  eyes  lined  those  ugly  red 
parapets  from  right  to  left?  The  men  of  the 
Cumberland  cursed  the  very  skirmish  line  that 
covered  their  front,  and  clamored  for  the  word 
to  go  ahead  and  finish  what  they  had  so  well 
begun.  Ever  since  Monday  afternoon,  when  they 
held  that  bogus  review,  and  in  sudden  dash  had 
driven  the  foe  from  Orchard  Knob  and  his  fore 
most  line  of  rifle  pits,  had  they  of  the  center, 


320  NORMAN  HOLT 

Thomas's  own  men,  been  compelled  to  hang  fire, 
as  it  were,  to  watch  each  successive  and  trium 
phant  sweep  of  Hooker  from  the  right  and  rear, 
to  listen  to  Sherman  volleying  far  out  to  their 
left  front,  and  to  digest  in  rising  wrath  the  bitter 
things  said  of  them  by  fellows  who  had  never 
seen  them  fight,  being  occupied  with  easier  propo 
sitions  elsewhere  in  the  field. 

All  day  of  the  24th — Tuesday — while  Sherman 
hammered  unavailingly  at  Tunnel  Hill,  these  men, 
so  little  understood  by  the  strangers  in  high 
command,  -watched,  waited,  and  marveled.  Obedi 
ent  to  the  restraining  orders,  they  had  halted  at 
the  captured  works,  even  though  the  enemy  was 
in  full  flight  for  the  refuge  of  his  second  line  at 
the  foot  of  the  ridge.  Now,  as  they  madly  cheered 
the  advance  of  Hooker  when,  sharp  and  clear, 
Wednesday  morning  came,  all  along  their  eager, 
murmuring  front  the  word  was  going  from  man 
to  man,  "No  stop  next  time,  boys!"  And  the 
grim,  silent  soldier,  waiting  there  on  Orchard 
Knob  in  stolid  patience  for  the  onward  sweep 
of  his  own  old  favorite,  Sherman— a  sweep  that 
seemed  unaccountably  delayed — turned  at  last  to 
that  equally  silent  subordinate,  the  man  who 
so  loyally  served  his  country  and  the  successive 
officers  appointed  over  him,  no  matter  how  they 
might  differ  in  mold  or  manner,  and  gave  the 
long  -withheld  consent  for  the  men  of  the  Cumber 
land  to  go  in. 

It  was  then  long  after  noon.  Hooker  was  far 
out  up  the  valley,  heading  for  Rossville  Gap,  but 
halted  at  the  swollen  creek.  Sherman  was  still 


THE  LEAP  DJ*  THE  LINE  811 

far  over  toward  the  Tennessee,  his  fighting  di 
visions  held  by  the  splendid  stand  of  the  men 
in  gray.  Grant,  impassive,  yet  displeased,  had 
thought  to  see  that  stern  resistance  ended  by 
Hooker's  dash  at  the  Southern  left  and  rear. 
But,  never  heeding  what  was  doing  elsewhere, 
Hardee  still  savagely  opposed,  and  Sherman 
stormed  in  vain.  The  day  was  going  by  without 
decisive  result.  It  was  now  the  turn  of  the  men 
"so  demoralized  by  Chickamauga  that  they 
wouldn't  come  out  of  their  trenches."  Swift  flew 
the  aids  to  the  division  commanders.  Swift  went 
the  word  along  the  chafing,  curbing  ranks,  and 
men  took  a  hitch  in  the  waist  belts,  a  shift  at 
the  rolled  blankets,  and  a  glance  right  and  left  as 
they  sprang  into  line.  Six  guns  from  the  Knob- 
quick  throbbing  like  a  frigate's  salute— would  be 
the  signal  for  the  advance,  and  at  the  bang  of 
the  very  first,  just  at  3.30,  you  could  hear  the 
clinching  of  teeth  in  Sheridan's  lines,  and  the  low 
muttered  "Now,  by  God,  let's  show  'em!"  Quick 
as  followed  the  five  they  couldn't  come  quick 
enough.  Even  before  the  fourth  report  some 
bugler  sounded  "Skirmishers,  forward,"  and  the 
doubled  rank  sprang  to  its  feet  and  started.  Sec 
ond  in  line  from  the  right,  Sheridan's  eager  divis 
ion  got  wind  of  the  signal,  their  little  chief  burn 
ing  with  impatience  and  hitching  forward  in 
saddle  as  was  his  wont  when  mad  to  push  out 
in  the  lead.  All  along  the  battalion  fronts,  all 
along  the  reserves,  everywhere  from  right  to  left 
men's  lips  were  moving — not  in  prayer — only  in 
counting  those  rhythmic,  fateful  shots.  Then,  eyes 
*U 


322  NORMAN  HOLT 

to  the  front,  touch  to  the  center,  guide  on  the 
colors,  silent,  but  with  a  storm  of  pent-up  vim 
and  zeal  and  soldier  wrath  straining  at  every 
breast,  up  rose  the  division  and  away  it  swept 
across  the  eastward  field. 

On  their  right,  almost  aligned,  trudged  the  brig 
ades  of  Johnson;  on  their  left  their  old  com 
rades  of  Wood's  three  brigades ;  farther  still  the 
lines  of  Baird.  Four  fine  divisions  were  they,  all 
envious  of  the  opportunities  given  these  strangers 
from  distant  fields,  and  emulous  of  each  other. 
"Carry  the  rebel  rifle  pits  at  the  foot  of  the  ridge, 
then  halt  and  wait  for  orders!"  Such  was  the 
word  to  the  men  of  the  Cumberland. 

But  now,  even  over  the  muffled  tramp,  tramp, 
one  can  hear  low-muttered,  terse,  significant 
phrase:  "Carry  the  pits?  Devil  doubt  you,  my 
lad,  but— 'halt  and  wait/— with  the  Tennessees 
watching  on  one  side  and  the  Potomacs  on  the 
other?  Well,  we'll  see  about  that  when  we  get 
there!"  "Demoralized  by  Chickamauga,  is  it?" 
"Won't  come  out  of  our  works,  won't  we?" 
"Want  us  to  halt  in  somebody  else's  works, 
I  think  you  said!  We  can  teach  you  a  trick 
worth  a  dozen  of  that!"  It  is  the  growl  of  the 
men  from  the  west  as  the  scabbards  clack  at  the 
striding  thighs  and  the  pace  irresistibly  quickens. 
"Steady  there!  Touch  to  the  center!  Dress  to 
the  right!"  shout  left-wing  file  closers  in  each 
battalion.  "Dress  to  the  left!"  snarl  they  of  the 
right  wing.  Something's  got  into  those  muddy 
brogans — something  all  the  shouting  and  swear 
ing  and  steadying  from  far  left  to  fast  footing 


THE  LEAP  OF  THE  LIKE  323 

right  won't  stop  or  suppress.  Away  up  on  the 
heights  are  men  who  mark  the  onward  sweep 
of  the  lines—men  who,  better  than  Grant  or  Sher 
man,  perhaps,  know  the  temper  of  the  men  of  the 
Cumberland.  Bragg  fairly  rushes  his  aids  with 
swift  summons  to  right  and  left  to  '  'close  in"  and 
support  the  center,  where  black-eyed  Breckinridge, 
stern  and  anxious,  watches  the  coming  storm. 
Cream  of  the  west  are  the  men  in  those  striding 
lines  on  the  plain  below.  Buckeye  and  Hoosier, 
Badger  and  Wolverine,  men  of  Missouri,  Minne 
sota,  Kansas,  and  Kentucky.  Iowa  alone  has 
no  regiment  there.  Her  hard-fighting  sons  are 
massed  under  Sherman  in  the  lines  of  the  old 
Tennessee.  Well  may  the  gloom  deepen  in  the  eyes 
of  the  great  Kentuckian,  holding  Bragg's  imper 
iled  center  on  the  ridge,  for  in  the  foremost  lines 
of  Wood  and  Sheridan,  in  five  eager  battalions, 
the  flag  of  his  own  State  waves  side  by  side  with 
that  of  the  Union.  It  is  indeed  brother  against 
brother  this  day! 

Seven-leagued  boots  are  these  worn  brogans  in 
the  Cumberland's  array.  The  stride  has  length 
ened,  quickened,  and  at  the  roar  of  the  rebel  guns 
on  the  heights  and  the  shriek  of  the  coming  shell, 
first  one  man,  then  another — first  one  battalion, 
then  another— the  march  becomes  a  dog  trot; 
quick  time  changes  to  the  double,  and  then,  as 
the  breastworks  blaze  with  sudden  fire  and  the 
Enfield  lead  comes  hissing  through  the  lines,  up 
goes  a  mighty  shout  that  drowns  every  order, 
even  sound  of  bugle,  and  in  furious,  tumultuous 
charge,  cheering  as  they  dart  and  leap  and  run, 


334  HORMAN  HOLT 

straight  at  the  works  at  the  foot  of  the  slope  go 
the  men  of  the  blue  brigades.  Over  the  parapet 
rails  they  pour,  leaping  the  shallow  trenches, 
blazing  at  the  backs  of  the  scurrying  foe,  seizing 
the  laggards;  raging  and  scowling  at  their  own 
officers,  who,  riding  furiously  up  and  down  their 
front,  check  the  wild  pursuit,  drive  back  the 
leaders,  and  struggle  hard  and  loyally  to  carry 
out  the  order  as  given,  "Halt  at  the  trenches  till 
further  orders!'* 

But  the  blood  of  the  two  corps— Fourth  and  Four 
teenth—is  boiling  within  them.  Halt  is  a  hard 
word  when  so  much  can  be  won.  In  Sheridan's  cen 
ter  are  two  battalions  that  fairly  raced  for  the  prize 
and  leaped  side  by  side  into  the  trenches,  Enyart's 
and  Pride's— Kentucky  and  Ohio— and  it  has 
taken  all  their  leaders  could  do  to  check  their 
way.  Bob,  dismounted  by  a  fragment  of  shell 
that  tore  the  tendons  from  his  charger's  leg, 
strides  up  and  down  his  panting  line,  speaking 
soothingly  to  his  long-legged  kinsfolk,  while  his 
tall  adjutant  faces  the  colors  at  the  center  and 
forbids  the  sergeants  to  budge.  It  is  Norman 
Holt's  first  charge  with  his  own  regiment,  and 
his  heart  is  high  as  the  ridge  before  him — its  crest 
only  five  hundred  yards  away. 

Just  to  their  left,  on  the  flank  of  a  comrade 
brigade,  a  battalion  of  Badgers  has  been  brought 
to  unwilling  halt,  their  adjutant,  too,  in  front  of 
the  colors,  their  field  officers,  like  many  another 
along  the  line,  leaping  from  saddle,  for,  now  that 
their  own  are  out  of  the  way,  the  Southern  rifle 
men  all  along  the  crest  blaze  down  at  the  de- 


THE  LEAP  OP  THE  LIMB  395 

fenseless  foe,  and,  with  trail  plates  kicking  high 
in  air,  "Light  Twelves"  and  six-pounders  in  rude 
redoubts  drive  a  piunging  fire  of  case  and  canister 
tearing  down  the  hillside.  Thick  and  fast  the 
iron  hail  beats  on  the  unsheltered  hosts— four 
splendid  divisions,  full  panoplied,  eager  and  rag 
ing  for  close  combat,  held  back  in  the  moment  of 
triumph.  Man  after  man  in  the  ranks  wonders 
at  the  order — even  deems  it  a  blunder.  The  very 
bayonet  seems  to  have  its  brain  to  realize  the 
utter  cruelty  of  that  halt.  If  ordered  to  charge 
at  all  it  should  have  been  to  charge  home.  Then, 
pell-mell,  with  the  pursued,  they  could  have  rushed 
up  the  slope,  unscathed  by  Southern  lead,  for  the 
guns  dared  not  shoot  for  fear  of  mowing  down 
their  own.  Now  they  must  face  the  muzzles  of  a 
sheltered  line  if  permitted  to  advance  at  all. 
Sheridan  and  his  staff,  dismounted,  are  back  of  a 
little  hut  that  gives  scant  cover  from  the  storm, 
and  Sheridan  is  shaking  his  fist.  Here,  there,  and 
everywhere  along  the  brigades  men  roll  over  in 
the  grasp  of  death.  The  halt  is  simply  murder- 
ous,  the  sacrifice  too  much  to  ask  of  mortal  man, 
and  again  the  wild  murmur  and  mutter  goes 
maddening  along  the  line.  By  heaven!  must  the 
Army  of  the  Cumberland  forever  be  placed  in  the 
wrong?  Must  its  lot  be  ever  to  suffer  and  never 
to  do?  Enyart  is  raging  in  rear  of  his  men. 
Pride  is  damning  the  Emmets— who  won't  lie 
still.  Gaffhey  is  waddling  up  and  down  in  front 
of  his  wing,  cursing  the  fates  in  his  choicest  ver 
nacular,  and  Norman  Holt  is  kneeling  by  the  side 
of  his  stricken  color-bearer,  for  an  Enfield  has 


326  NORMAN  HOLT 

bored  the  tall  sergeant's  lungs,  and  the  silken 
folds  are  deluged  with  blood  before  their  rescuer 
can  bear  them  aloft.  There  is  something  electric 
in  the  sight  of  their  sudden  lifting.  Men  are  so 
eager  for  a  signal,  for  an  excuse  of  any  kind,  that 
as  the  flag  swings  forward  so  surges  the  line. 
Backward  they  will  not  go — anywhere  better  than 
that !  for  there  on  Orchard  Knob  stands  the  stern 
commander  who  declared  them  demoralized.  For 
ty  yards  forward  there  is  partial  shelter  under 
the  steep,  and  so,  as  Norman  rises,  up  rises  the 
rank,  and  all  on  a  sudden  from  a  dozen  points 
along  the  captured  works,  in  squads,  then  in  com 
panies,  men  begin  to  forge  ahead,  some  merely 
for  shelter,  but  more  full  bent  for  attack,  and  be 
fore  the  generals  can  begin  to  realize  what  is 
coming,  "Thinking  Bayonets"  has  taken  com 
mand  for  the  time,  and  in  spite  of  all  orders  the 
Cumberland  has  sprung  to  the  charge.  For  a 
moment  hoarse  shoutings  are  heard,  "Halt!  halt!" 
"Go  back,  there!  Lie  down,  there!"  but  only  for 
a  moment.  Buckeye  and  Badger  have  started 
a  race.  Kentucky  cuts  loose  from  the  trench 
where  its  stricken  are  lying — God  and  the  surgeons 
must  care  for  them  now.  One  backward  glance 
Enyart  gives  toward  the  commanders.  Harker 
is  springing  into  saddle.  Sheridan,  so  far  from 
storming  out  orders  to  stop  it,  is  certainly  swing 
ing  his  hat ;  and,  facing  front  once  more,  Colonel 
Bob  sees  his  adjutant  long  strides  ahead  of  the 
nearmost,  breasting  the  slope,  high  waving  the 
flag  and  loudly  shouting  "Come  on!"  And  then 
away  to  the  right,  away  to  the  left,  whole  battal- 


THE  LEAP  OF  THE  LINE  337 

ions  scramble  up  from  the  pits  and  spring  for  the 
heights,  Sheridan's  center  the  guide  of  the  line. 

Out  to  the  front  leap  the  colors.  Up  into  sad 
dles  swing  field  and  staff.  Haste  ye,  cavaliers! 
for  nimble  feet  are  far  in  the  lead  sounding  their 
own  rataplan.  This  is  no  General's  planning. 
This  is  no  star-led  assault.  It's  the  charge  of  the 
ranks!  It's  the  leap  of  the  line!  Up  from  the 
lowlands  sweep  the  battalions,  cheering  like  mad. 
Officers,  swinging  their  caps  on  the  points  of  the 
sword,  rush  out  or  ride  out  in  front  of  their 
men,  who  heed  not — who  need  not.  This  is  their 
benefit.  This  is  their  own  battle.  The  bayonets 
flash  over  the  third  line  of  works,  midway  up  the 
rise,  and  now  all  the  long  hillside  is  streaked 
and  seamed  with  blue,  -waving,  sagging,  yet  ever 
moving  onward  and  upward ;  and  the  grim  com 
mander  of  the  united  armies  stares  speechless  at 
them  from  the  rocky,  wooded  knoll  far  to  the 
rear,  and  at  last  demands  of  Thomas:  "Who 
ordered  that  charge?" 

Who  ordered  it?  The  brain  of  the  American 
soldier— the  horse  sense  of  "Thinking  Bayonets," 
for  now  they  are  away  up  the  slope,  crashing  in 
among  the  batteries,  straddling  the  log  parapets, 
volleying  into  the  very  face  of  the  defenders, 
shooting  down  the  opposing  battle  flags,  and, 
never  halting,  never  swerving,  straight  they  go, 
Wood  and  Sheridan,  Baird  and  Johnson  almost 
aligned,  but  Sheridan  hitting  square  at  the  center, 
driving  Bragg,  Breckinridge,  and  a  dozen  of  brill 
iant  staff  and  general  officers  from  their  last 
covert  at  the  summit  of  the  ridge,  waving  the 


SM  NORMAN  HOLT 

brilliant  hues  of  the  old  and  beloved  flag  above 
captured  guns,  redoubts,  and  even  rank  after 
rank  of  bewildered,  gray-clad  infantry,  cut  off 
from  all  possibility  of  escape.  Then  at  last,  just 
one  vivid,  thrilling  hour  from  the  sound  of  the 
first  gun  that  signaled  the  advance,  as  they  range 
up  at  the  crest,  monarchs  of  all  they  survey, 
Ohio  and  Wisconsin,  Illinois  and  Kentucky  are 
cheering  each  other,  cheering  their  officers,  cheer 
ing  themselves — aye,  in  their  soldier  rejoicing, 
cheering  the  grimy,  crestfallen  "Johnnies"  in  the 
nearest  trenches.  And  over  near  Bragg' s  vacated 
headquarters,  where  the  generals  are  fast  gather 
ing  for  mutual  congratulation,  a  tumultuous 
throng  of  Buckeyes  and  Kentuckians  surges  about 
a  little  group,  where  Colonel  Bob,  bleeding  from 
a  bullet  wound  he  had  hardly  noticed,  is  still  in 
saddle,  waving  those  precious  colors  above  his 
handsome  head,  while  Sheridan,  once  more  afoot, 
is  clasping  the  hand  of  Kentucky's  gallant  adju 
tant,  who,  faint  from  exertion  and  loss  of  blood, 
is  propped  against  the  flag-staff,  while  the  sur 
geon  binds  an  ugly  gash  in  his  side— a  bayonet 
thrust  that  well-nigh  cost  Norman  Holt  his  life, 
but  that  could  not  stop  him,  as,  foremost  of  all, 
he  burst  through  the  wavering  line  of  defenders 
and,  slashing  the  halliards  with  his  keen  sword, 
brought  fluttering  to  earth  the  flag  of  the  South— 
Chickamauga  was  avenged! 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

VICTORY 

Then  followed  glorious  days  in  the  field  and 
solemn  hours  in  the  hospitals  about  Chatta 
nooga.  Great  had  been  the  Union  victory  of 
Mission  Ridge,  but  that  enforced  halt  at  the  foot 
of  the  slope  had  cost  the  Cumberlands  dear.  For 
two  days,  and  with  four  divisions,  the  Tennessees 
had  battered  long  about  Tunnel  Hill,  losing  some 
fifteen  hundred  men  and  gaining  little  or  nothing, 
while  Sheridan  and  Wood,  with  the  men  "demor 
alized  by  Chickamauga,"  in  their  two  divisions 
alone,  and  in  a  single  hour,  had  lost  in  killed  and 
wounded — not  a  man  missing — eight  hundred 
more  than  Sherman's  whole  array  of  casualties, 
and  in  spite  of  such  heavy  loss  had  refused  to  be 
checked,  had  stormed  Bragg's  center,  captured 
forty  cannon,  six  thousand  stands  of  arms,  and 
five  thousand  prisoners;  had  split  up  the  whole 
corps  and  driven  it  every  which  way.  However, 
it  was  Sherman,  with  his  famous  marchers,  who 
was  sent  in  pursuit,  while  the  Cumberlands  were 
divided  up,  some  going  northeast  after  Long- 
street,  some  southeast  after  Bragg,  some  into 
hospital — and  among  these  Bob  Enyart  again, 
with  the  brevet  of  brigadier-general  for  brilliant 
service  and  a  bullet  in  the  leg.  With  him,  more- 


330  NORMAN  HOLT 

over,  for  a  brief  fortnight,  at  least,  was  his  gal 
lant  young  adjutant,  with  that  long  gash  in  his 
side  and  a  short  paragraph  in  Sheridan's  report 
that  would  have  made  him  a  major  before  he 
was  a  month  older — but  for  another  governor. 

And  during  that  month,  spite  of  all  that  could 
be  done  by  the  skill  of  surgeons  and  the  devoted 
nursing  of  mother  and  sister,  Theodore's  feeble 
life  flickered  away.  He  seemed  conscious  to  the 
last,  contrite,  "humble  as  a  little  child."  Death 
was,  perhaps,  a  merciful  solution  of  a  vexed  and 
serious  problem,  but  what  mother  could  be  made 
to  think  so?  "Unstable  as  water,"  swayed  by 
every  passing  whim  or  fancy;  his  tastes  and  in 
clinations  early  vitiated  by  evil  company  abroad 
and  unwise  management  at  home,  the  lad  was  so 
far  started  on  the  downhill  path  that  it  is  doubt 
ful  if  he  could  have  been  rescued.  But  the  mother 
ever  fondly  cherished  the  faith  that  he  could  and 
would,  had  it  pleased  God  to  spare  him  to  her 
rather  than  to  take  him  unto  Himself,  for  all  that 
was  good  and  gentle  and  dependent  in  the  boy 
came  to  the  surface  in  that  final  fortnight.  He 
was  her  blessed  baby,  her  darling,  once  again,  and 
the  world  and  sin  were  forgotten.  Yet  there  was 
jealous  pain  for  her  even  in  the  contemplation  of 
his  ebbing  life,  for,  more  than  ever  before,  the  lad 
seemed  now  to  lean  on  Norman  Holt,  to  need 
him,  to  cling  to  him  at  the  last.  Though  weak 
and  in  much  pain  from  his  wound,  Norman  was 
able  to  be  about,  and  through  the  influence  of 
Enyart,  the  efforts  of  Major  Lane,  and  the  favor 
of  the  commanding  General,  Theodore  had  been 


VICTORY  831 

borne  from  the  field  hospital  and  lodged  beneath 
the  roof  where  lay  these  wounded  officers,  and 
Norman,  swiftly  mending,  could  sit  by  the  boy's 
bedside  often  for  hours,  to  the  neglect  of  his  own 
colonel,  and  to  the  end  that  by  the  time  that 
first  detachment  of  anxious  women— mothers, 
wives,  and  sisters— reached  Chattanooga,  the 
young  Kentuckian  was  practically  indispensable 
to  the  dying  boy.  Lane  saw  it  and  surrendered 
to  it,  and  though  Norman  purposely  absented 
himself  the  afternoon  of  the  mother's  arrival,  it 
could  not  be  for  long.  Theodore  begged  for  him, 
begged  his  parents  to  help  him  undo  the  wrong 
he  had  done,  begged  Daisy  to  forget  the  wild 
accusations  he  had  made  in  the  mad  moment  of 
his  arrest,  and  Major  Lane  went  in  search  of 
Norman,  and  found  him — his  superior  officer — 
notified  that  hour  of  his  commission  as  lieutenant- 
colonel  of  Kentucky  cavalry  "for  daring  and 
dauntless  leadership  in  battle  at  Stone  River  and 
Missionary  Ridge."  The  governor  had  seen 
"Shurd'n's  bet,"  as  Gaffney  put  it,  "and  gone 
him  wan  betther." 

Then,  too,  it  transpired  presently  that  while 
Theodore  wanted  Norman  even  after  the  coming 
of  the  women  folk,  Enyart  didn't  want  him  at 
all.  The  need  for  nurses  afar  back  along  the 
Ohio  was  not  what  it  had  been  after  Perryrille 
and  Stone  River.  It  was  urgent  now  on  the 
Tennessee,  where  many  brave  lads  lay  sorely 
wounded.  In  the  same  patchwork  train  to  Tulla- 
homa  with  the  Lanes  came  Bob's  devoted  mother. 
In  that  same  train  and  of  that  same  party  was 


832  NORMAN  HOLT 

Kate  Ray.  The  railway  was  still  a  wreck  in  a 
dozen  places,  and  the  corps  of  doctors,  attendants 
and  nurses  crossed  the  Cumberland  range  in  am 
bulances  and  hired  vehicles  and  landed  on  the 
Tennessee,  laden  with  medicines  and  dainties 
sorely  needed  by  the  stricken.  The  matronly 
wing  of  Mrs.  Lane  gave  the  requisite  conventional 
shelter  to  both  girls,  but  it  was  the  girls  that 
supported  the  wing,  for  the  poor  mother  had 
little  strength  or  spirit  with  which  to  face  the 
journey  or  to  tend  the  sick.  Mother  and  daughter 
had  practically  changed  places,  and  Daisy, 
through  anxiety,  grief,  and  sense  of  responsibility, 
had  matured  and  broadened  beyond  her  years. 

Those  were  days  when  men  and  women,  too, 
developed  with  startling  suddenness  from  careless 
boy  and  girlhood.  Kate  Ray's  life  for  months 
had  been  spent  in  caring  for  the  sick  and 
wounded,  and  she  came  armed  with  the  chief 
surgeon's  indorsement  to  the  effect  that  "in  part 
ing  with  the  services  of  Miss  Ray  to  enable  her 
to  take  up  still  more  arduous  duties  at  the  dis 
tant  front,"  he  felt  it  his  duty  to  commend  her 
to  the  military  and  medical  authorities  of  the 
army  as  "a  most  zealous,  capable,  and  efficient 
nurse,"  and  he  begged  leave  to  add  "a  brave  and 
admirable  woman."  Now  Bob  Enyart  "was selfish 
enough  to  want  that  most  zealous,  capable,  and 
efficient  nurse,  that  brave  and  admirable  woman, 
all  to  himself,  when  he  already  had  his  own 
mother,  and  speedily  began  to  fret  himself  into  a 
fever  because  he  could  have  so  little  of  her.  It 
was  hard  for  Mrs.  Enyart.  Sometimes  I  wonder 


VICTORY  33S 

if  mothers  do  not  find  the  pangs  of  maternity 
easier  to  bear  than  the  realization  that  the  dar 
ling  boy  craves  another 's  ministering  hand — that 
the  beloved  daughter  is  pining  for  another  nest — 
that  mother  is,  after  all,  not  indispensable,  and 
that  some  other  is  now  Queen  Paramount. 

And  it  was  a  solemn  scene  at  Theodore's  bed 
side  the  evening  of  their  coming.  Pale  from  suf 
fering  and  an  emotion  he  could  not  entirely  con 
ceal,  Norman  Holt,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  the 
man  who  the  year  before  had  so  coldly  treated 
him,  came  into  the  presence  of  the  mother  who 
had  turned  him  from  her  door.  Daisy  was  not 
there. 

"It  is  Colonel  Holt  now,"  faltered  Lane,  with 
an  attempt  at  a  smile. 

"Colonel  Holt!"  feebly  cried  Theodore.  "That's 
good— that's  grand!" 

"It  is  Norman  in  spite  of  all,"  answered  the 
sorrowing  woman,  looking  wistfully,  pleadingly, 
into  the  pallid,  clear-cut,  manly  face,  as  she  half- 
timidly  held  forth  both  hands.  Good  God !  What 
humility  of  suffering  there  is  for  the  mother  who 
turns  from  the  wreck  of  her  own  hopes,  from  the 
death  of  all  that  was  planned  and  prayed  for  in 
her  first-born,  and  gazes  upon  the  full  fruition  of 
effort  and  energy  in  the  person  of  another — her 
boy's  own  friend  and  comrade !  On  the  one  hand 
lay  her  Ishmael,  a  useless  life,  a  ruined  career; 
on  the  other  stood  he  who  had  so  faithfully 
striven  to  befriend  her  weakling,  he  whom  they 
had  so  despitefully  treated,  now  a  tried  leader  of 
men,  tempered  by  adversity,  tested  through  fire 


334  NORMAN  HOLT 

and  flood,  crowned  with  the  honor  and  acclama 
tion  of  his  soldier  comrades,  high  in  rank  and 
command  despite  his  youth,  yet  not  so  high  but 
that,  in  pity  and  sympathy  and  forgiveness,  he  had 
stifled  the  sense  of  his  own  suffering  that,  day  by 
day,  he  might  succor  their  dying  boy.  With  her 
face  bowed  upon  Norman's  hands,  she  was  silently 
weeping  when  the  door  from  an  adjoining  room 
opened,  and  Daisy  came  slowly  in. 

Not  since  the  week  of  Theodore's  arrest  had  he 
set  eyes  on  her.  That  was  only  a  year  agone, 
yet  all  the  girlish  look  had  fled  from  her  face, 
leaving  it  pathetic,  sorrowful,  yet  inexpressibly 
sweet.  It  was  the  face  of  a  woman  chastened  by 
anxiety  and  suffering,  one  in  whom  gentleness, 
tenderness,  and  devotion  had  triumphed  over 
thought  of  self,  and  made  a  ministering  angel  to 
the  aging  and  distressed.  The  mother  had 
known  that  death  would  doubtless  be  the  sen 
tence  of  her  son  should  he  fall  into  the  hands  of 
the  Union  army,  and  all  her  thoughts  had  been 
of  him  and  his  peril.  The  daughter  had  had  to 
carry  a  double  load, — the  knowledge  that  her 
father's  affairs  were  going  from  bad  to  worse, 
that  the  investments  prompted  by  the  elder  Mal- 
loy  had  been  calamitous,  and  she  had  Malloy's 
word  for  it  that  now  only  he  stood  between  that 
father  and  financial  ruin.  Malloy  went  further 
still.  He  had  not  scrupled  to  tell  the  daughter 
her  father's  good  name  was  involved,  as  had  been 
that  of  his  deceased  partner,  Mclntyre.  All  this 
for  months  the  girl  had  had  to  bear  in  the  de 
termination  that  her  mother  should  not  hear  it. 


VICTORY 

All  this  Had  Malloy  been  whispering  into  her  ears 
in  furtherance  of  the  suit  of  his  hopeful  son.  No 
wonder,  as  Kate  Ray  wrote,  "Daisy  looked  as 
though  she  were  going  into  a  decline." 

And  then  for  long  months  she  had  known  how 
hideously  unjust  was  Theodore's  accusation 
against  the  lover  toward  whom  her  young  heart 
had  leaned  from  the  first — the  lover  whom  she 
had  spurned  at  her  brother's  and  mother's  de 
mand — the  lover  whom  they  had  all  wronged, 
and,  according  to  Malloy,  whom  the  father  had 
actually  robbed,  for  trust  money,  too,  said  he, 
was  involved  in  the  father's  speculations.  What 
reward  had  Norman  received  at  their  hands  for 
his  devotion  to  her  brother  and  to  her? 

It  was  but  a  few  weeks  after  Theodore's  arrest 
that  she  learned  the  falsity  of  his  accusations — 
Kate  Ray  had  seen  to  that — but  meantime  there 
was  Norman's  brief,  cold  reply  to  her  letter,  the 
check  returned  and  her  slight  repaid  in  full.  "I 
shall  never  again  attempt  to  see  you.  After  your 
letter  I  doubt  if  I  shall  ever  care  to."  That  was 
the  last  word  between  them,  yet  it  would  not 
have  been  the  last,  for  she  had  nerved  herself  to 
write  and  tell  him  she  knew  the  truth.  Though 
she  could  not  ask  him  to  forgive  or  forget,  she 
wished  him  to  know  she  deplored  their  bitter 
injustice  to  him.  No  light-minded  girl  could  have 
brought  herself  to  such  a  sacrifice  of  maidenly 
pride,  to  such  a  pitch  of  self-abnegation— the 
possibility  of  being  misunderstood— the  shameful 
possibility  that  he  might  think  her  begging  for 
the  return  of  his  love  and  trust.  No — that  she 


33*  NORMAN  HOLT 

assured  herself  was  gone  forever— insulted  and 
outraged  as  it  had  been.  It  was  the  woman  in 
her  now  prompting  her  at  any  cost  to  acknowl 
edge  her  fault.  It  would  have  been  easier  to  say, 
"I  have  sinned  against  thee"  to  any  other  soul 
on  earth.  But  she  had  at  last,  after  many  at 
tempts,  written  her  confession,  and  then  came  the 
dread  tidings  of  his  desperate  wound  and  capture. 
The  story  of  his  heroism  came  later—Kate  Ray 
again.  But  that  was  nothing  new.  What  could 
he  ever  be  but  brave,  heroic,  superb — her  knight, 
her  soldier,  her  hero,  her  lover,  aye,  her  dearly 
loved  one,  though  he  should  never  know  it — 
though  he  should  never  care  to  know — though  he 
would  probably  come  back  a  General  in  the  by 
and  by  and  marry  "Kate-Sister"  or  pretty  Lou 
Ward  (who  was  smitten  with  one  of  Morgan's 
dashing  raiders),  or  Lorna  Walton,  who  wore 
the  Confederate  colors  beneath  her  expensive  bod 
ice  and  could  not  see  what  so  many  men  saw  in 
Kate  Ray!  As  for  Daisy,  she  would  devote  her 
self  to  poor  mother.  She  would  nurse  and  soothe 
and  work  for  her ;  and  so,  in  gentle  deeds  of  good 
ness,  the  child  had  lived  through  her  year  of 
penance,  refusing  to  yield  to  the  pleas  of  the 
Malloys,  and  the  bud  had  become  the  blossom, 
sweet,  sorrowing,  uncomplaining,  but  far  more 
lovable  and  womanly.  And  such  was  she  who, 
with  faltering  footsteps,  and  timid  yet  resolute 
mien,  came  slowly  forward,  and  Norman  turned 
and  saw  her— saw  in  an  instant  the  change  the 
year  had  wrought,  and  the  same  old  spasmodic 
seizure  fastened  on  his  throat  and  choked  his 


VICTORY  837 

utterance.  He  could  not  speak.  He  stepped  to 
ward  her,  took  her  cold,  fluttering  little  hand 
(and  did  not  know  he  was  holding  it  till  she 
drew  it  away),  gazing  the  while  dumbly  down 
into  her  pallid  face,  an  infinite  sorrow,  sympathy, 
and  tenderness  outpouring  from  his  big,  brave 
heart  and  overflowing  in  his  deep  brown  eyes. 
And,  though  he  could  not  speak,  she  could  and 
did.  She  knew  she  must,  and  had  schooled  her 
self  beforehand,  and  even  in  her  humility  and  in 
her  trouble  there  was  sweet  womanly  dignity  in 
her  bearing;  there  was  confession  mingled  with 
womanly  trust  in  her  lovely  eyes  as  they  looked 
up  one  moment  into  his.  Norman  Holt  was  at 
least  a  gentleman,  and  could  not,  said  she,  mis 
understand  her.  Yet  was  it  not  hard  to  have  to 
meet  him  so? 

"I  ought  not  to  say  I  am  glad  to  see  you  here, 
since  we  owe  that  to  your  being  again  wounded. 
We  can  never  thank  you  enough,  Mr.  Holt." 

"It  is  Colonel  Holt,  now,  Daisy,"  said  her 
father,  coming  forward. 

"It  is  just  Norman,  Theodore's  friend,"  said  he, 
finding  voice  at  last,  and  striving  to  speak  as 
though  he  would  give  her  hope  and  reassurance, 
but  she  saw  how  little  hope  there  was  behind  the 
conventional  mask.  There  are  men  who  can  ride  in 
to  battle  laughing  in  the  face  of  death,  yet  cannot 
so  much  as  summon  a  smile  when  the  King  of 
Terrors  sits  by  the  bedside  of  another  for  whom 
women  watch  and  pray.  He  knew  that  there  need 
be  no  fear  of  earthly  tribunal  for  the  fast-failing 
son  and  brother.  Perhaps  it  was  better  so. 
22 


33*  NORMAN  HOLT 

Three  days  more— only  three— were  given  to 
him  in  which  to  minister  to  Theodore,  to  strive 
to  comfort  and  strengthen  the  sorrowing  mother, 
to  be  of  aid  to  the  girl  for  whom  all  the  old  love 
seemed  to  be  revived,  redoubled.  Of  that  it  was 
no  time  to  speak.  One  afternoon  there  came  a 
dispatch.  The  colonel  commanding  the  — th  Ken 
tucky  Cavalry  desired  to  know  how  soon  the 
lieutenant-colonel  could  report  for  duty.  There 
was  urgent  need  of  his  services.  Showing  it  to 
Enyart,  Norman  briefly  said,  "I  start  to-night," 
and  Bob  could  only  press  his  hand  and  say: 
"You're  right." 

But  it  was  another  matter  to  break  it  to  the 
Lanes.  He  dreaded  the  effect  on  Theodore,  so 
rapidly  was  he  failing.  It  was  Kate  Ray  again 
who  came  to  Norman's  aid.  She  had  heard,  and 
lost  no  time.  "You  are  going  without  their 
knowing  it,  is  not  that  your  plan,  Norman?"  she 
asked,  then  quickly  added,  "But  do  you  not  wish 
to  speak  with  Daisy?" 

"Of  what  could  I  speak  to  her— at  such  a  time?" 
he  wistfully  asked.  The  man  in  him  shrank  from 
thought  of  wooing  when  all  her  thoughts  must 
be  of  her  dying  brother.  The  woman  in  Kate 
Ray  saw  that  then,  perhaps  more  than  at  any 
other  time,  there  would  be  sweetness,  strength, 
and  support  in  the  assurance  that  Daisy  was 
loved  and  forgiven.  Again  was  it  Kate  Ray  -who 
took  matters  into  her  own  hands.  Norman 
might  slip  away  with  only  a  few  words  to  the 
family  generally,  but  as  to  Daisy,  that  was  an 
other  matter. 


VICTORY  339 

And  so,  just  after  nightfall,  as,  with  sorrowing 
face  and  moistened  eyes,  he  came  to  tell  her  he 
had  just  bidden  Theodore  farewell,  and  that 
Theodore  had  smiled  and  borne  it  bravely,  Kate 
led  him  along  the  gallery  of  the  big,  old-fashioned 
southern  house,  past  Mrs.  Enyart's  door,  to  the 
railing  at  the  corner.  "Wait  here  one  moment, 
will  you?"  said  she,  and  then  disappeared. 

It  was  a  still  December  evening.  The  stars 
were  sparkling  in  a  cloudless  sky.  Out  to  the 
southwest,  as  he  faced  the  valley,  Old  Lookout 
loomed  like  a  big  black  bison  against  the  lower 
heavens.  Campfires  flickered  and  twinkled  every 
where  at  the  front,  and  along  the  dim,  shadowy 
ranges  to  the  right  and  left.  But  distance  soft 
ened  all  earthly  sound,  and  a  silence  as  of  some 
New  England  wintry  landscape  fell  like  a  mantle 
upon  the  freezing  earth.  On  the  floor  below  he 
could  hear  Bob  Enyart  thumping  about  his  nar 
row  room,  and  knew  just  how  eager  and  restless 
that  young  soldier  must  be,  but  of  other  sounds 
close  at  hand  there  were  few.  The  gallery  on 
which  he  stood  encircled  the  house  on  two  sides, 
at  least,  and  Theodore's  room  was  at  the  north 
ward  end  of  the  east  front,  well  at  his  back. 
Kate  had  entered  Mrs.  Enyart's  room,  and  every 
little  moment  Norman  expected  her  return.  She 
had  asked  him  to  take  a  small  packet  -with  him, 
but  when  she  reappeared  her  hands  were  empty, 
her  face  was  blank. 

"It  isn't— at  least,  I  can't  find  something  I 
want.  Would  you  mind  waiting  while  I  run  down 
stairs?"  she  asked.  "I  shan't  be  long."  And, 


34*  ItORMAN  HOLT 

wondering  that  their  cool,  level-headed  Kate 
should  appear  so  perturbed,  Norman  waited.  He 
had  left  Daisy  with  her  mother,  had  spoke? 
briefly,  gently,  with  them  both,  striving  still  to 
appear  hopeful  of  seeing  them  all  again  when — 
when  Theodore  was  able  to  move.  He  would 
write.  He  would  never  forget  them.  Mrs.  Lane 
only  wept.  Daisy's  little  hand  lay  long  in  his, 
but  their  eyes  hardly  met  as  he  bowed  in  fare 
well.  He  had  dreaded  that  parting,  yet  how  he 
longed  to  live  it  over,  at  least  with  her!  And 
then,  as  Kate  still  failed  to  find  the  something 
she  wanted  on  the  lower  floor  (perhaps  Bob 
Enyart  was  helping  her  now,  smiled  Norman  to 
himself),  he  turned,  began  slowly  pacing  along  the 
southern  gallery,  and  became  gradually  aware  of 
a  slender,  shadowy,  girlish  form  leaning  against 
the  pillar  at  the  further  end,  apparently  gazing 
out  at  the  dark  and  muddy  street.  Another  in 
stant  and  he  knew  it  was  Daisy — Daisy,  enveloped 
in  a  shawl  that  muffled  her  head  and  shoulders, 
else  must  she  have  heard  his  step  before  she  did, 
which  was  not  until  he  strode  within  six  feet  of 
her.  Then,  startled,  she  turned  and  saw  him, 
turned  again,  strove  to  flee,  but  in  that  instant, 
even  in  that  dim  light,  he  had  seen  the  sweet,  wan, 
piteous  face  was  bathed  in  tears.  Good  God! 
What  were  doubts,  scruples,  resolutions  now! 
One  spring  brought  him  to  her  side.  One  low- 
toned,  intense,  imploring  cry,  "Daisy !"  One  quick, 
impulsive,  irresistible  effort,  and,  despite  counter 
effort,  his  arms  had  clasped,  drawn,  and  held  her 
to  his  breast,  and  then,  listening  despite  herself  to 


HIS  ARMS   HAD   CLASPED  AND   HELD   HER  TO   HIS    BREAST. 

Paee  340 


VICTORY  341 

his  fond,  murmured  words,  yielding  despite  her 
self  to  the  joy  of  his  kisses,  raining  warm,  passion- 
ate,  pleading  upon  her  rumpled  hair,  upon  her 
forehead  and  temples,  yielding  at  last  to  the 
infinite  love  in  every  word  and  touch  and  tone, 
with  a  sigh  of  relief  inexpressible,  of  tearful  con 
tent,  of  joy  ineffable,  the  little  head  sank  back 
into  the  hollow  of  that  broad  shoulder  and  the 
soft,  sweet  lips  surrendered  to  his. 


L'ENVOI 

A  sage  has  said  "The  story's  told  when  the 
woman's  won,"  so  what  excuse  for  further  page 
save  to  bring  the  reader  once  more  to  Belleview 
and  to  another  Christmas — just  after  the  war. 
Only  a  pathetic  reminder  of  the  loved  and  hos 
pitable  homestead  of  the  old  days  was  Belleview 
now.  But  already  hope  "was  rekindling  even  in 
the  sad  eyes  of  the  aging  squire.  One  of  his  boys, 
his  first-born,  he  might  not  see  again,  for  to  the 
last,  through  battle  after  battle,  had  Henry  fol 
lowed  the  fortunes  of  the  cause  he  had  so  gal 
lantly  served,  winning  soldier  honors  everywhere, 
but,  when  the  last  plank  floated  out  from  under 
the  sinking  craft,  proudly  refusing  to  return  to 
the  state  so  divided  against  itself.  It  was  then 
he  joined  hands  with  three  or  four  of  his  com 
rades,  and  for  the  time,  at  least,  was  spending 
his  days  abroad.  For  this  course  there  was  per 
haps  another  reason,  long  anticipated,  in  Kate 
Ray's  final  acceptance  of  General  Bob  Enyart's 


342  NORMAN  HOLT 

hand  and  heart  and  fortune.  "The  best  thing  by 
long  odds  the  war  did  for  me,"  as  he  frequently 
declared,  though  its  close  found  him  a  division 
commander  and  made  him  a  major  of  regulars 
before  he  was  out  of  his  twenties.  There  was 
many  a  hard  fight  after  Chattanooga,  in  which 
Buckeyes  and  -what  was  left  of  our  old  friends, 
the  Emmets,  were  prominent  features,  Gaffney 
coming  in  for  more  hard  knocks  than  glory,  yet 
sending  his  "missidges"  and  congratulations  to 
Colonel  Holt  after  the  famous  march  to  the  sea, 
with  every  promise  and  intention  of  being  up 
again  in  time  to  "drink  down  all  comers  to  the 
wedding."  It  was  a  quiet  little  wedding  that, 
the  month  that  followed  the  muster  out  in  the 
fall  of  '65.  Norman  was  full  colonel  by  that 
time  and  wearing  the  brevet  title  of  General,  but 
the  world  was  to  be  faced  over  again.  Malloy 
senior,  a  fugitive  from  justice,  whose  treachery 
had  wrecked  the  life  and  honor  of  good  old  Mc- 
Intyre,  well-nigh  beggared  the  Holts,  and  deeply 
involved  the  Lanes,  had  been  brought  up  short 
in  his  career  by  the  sudden  appearance  of  Lane 
and  Norman  in  Cincinnati  shortly  after  Theo 
dore's  death.  He  might  hoodwink  Lane,  but  he 
couldn't  bully  Holt,  and  now  that  she  had  an 
arm  to  lean  on,  Daisy  had  told  her  lover  of 
Malloy's  whisperings,  to  the  end  that  the  whilom 
boss  and  manipulator  had  been  made  to  disgorge 
not  a  little  of  his  plunder  before  the  clutch  was 
off  his  throat. 

For  a  few  weeks  Norman  had  wavered.    The 
army  would  have  to  be  reorganized  and  increased. 


VICTORY  &4* 

He  was  assured  of  a  captaincy  in  the  cavalry, 
but,  looking  at  the  desolation  about  the  old 
homestead  and  in  the  dear  old  father's  face,  he 
made  his  choice.  Enough  had  been  recovered  to 
repair  and  refurnish  the  mansion,  but  the  old 
glories  of  the  hunt  and  the  stables  would  never 
come  again.  The  darkies  were  "free  niggers" 
now,  and  didn't  know  what  on  earth  to  do  with 
themselves.  Norman  was  busy  looking  after 
Belleview  and  the  squire,  with  Daisy  installed  as 
mistress  of  the  household,  and  yet  ever  in  readi 
ness  to  take  Henry's  place  in  the  firm  of  Lane  & 
Holt,  should  the  elder  decide  against  returning. 
When  it  was  heard  in  the  fall  of  '65  that  Lorna 
Walton  and  her  mother  were  gone  abroad,  it  was 
whispered  that  he,  at  least,  would  not  have  to 
take  to  the  law,  provided  he  could  forget  his 
long  love  and  console  himself  -with  the  lady  who 
"couldn't  see  what  so  many  men  seemed  to  see 
in  Miss  Ray." 

But  once  more  the  great  hickory  logs  blazed  in 
the  broad  fireplaces.  Harkless,  and  Hannibal, 
son  of  Harkless,  were  there  with  a  host  of  the 
same  old  brood  of  aunties,  uncles,  and  pickanin 
nies,  only  too  glad  to  see  a  resumption  of  holiday 
joys,  hopeful  of  "Christmas  gifts,"  and,  while 
proud  of  their  freedom,  only  too  eager,  as  a  rule, 
to  admit  their  dependence  and  entire  willingness 
to  be  fed,  clothed,  and  comforted  by  somebody 
else.  Unc'  Pomp  and  his  fiddlers  had  wandered 
away;  nor  were  there  dancers  galore  as  in  the 
old  days,  nor  crops,  nor  spurs,  and  hunting  caps, 
nor  foxes,  masks,  and  brashes.  These  were  gone 


844  NORMAN  HOLT 

with  successive  occupants—  "trophies, "  North  and 
South.  The  glamour  of  the  past  was  lifted  from 
the  walls  of  Belleview,  but  new  blood  was  tin 
gling  in  the  veins — new  ideas,  new  energy  burning 
in  the  brains  of  Belleview's  restorers,  and  stanch 
old  friends  had  come  to  aid  in  the  work— Dr. 
Woodrow  and  his  Asholt  patients  among  the 
foremost.  Once  again  much  of  the  old  furniture 
stood  in  the  same  old  nooks  and  corners.  The 
portraits  of  bygone  Holts  reappeared  on  the 
walls;  the  books  on  the  library  shelves;  sconces 
and  candelabra,  the  massive  old  silver,  the  goblets 
so  famous  in  the  old  festivities,  even  the  old 
punch-bowl — even  the  incomparable  punch,  for, 
though  thin  and  tremulous,  the  hand  of  the 
master  was  there  to  brew  and  the  loved  old 
squire  doctor  there  to  dispense. 

And  how  joyous  a  gathering  it  was,  despite 
the  fact  that  no  such  toilets  dazzled  the  eye  as 
those  that  were  worn  that  memorable  Christmas 
eve  in  '60 !  Many  a  famous  name  was  still  repre 
sented.  Many  a  uniform  was  still  to  be  seen, 
blue  and  gray.  There  were  several  empty  sleeves, 
and  one  gaunt,  gallant  son  of  the  State  came  in 
on  crutches— Wing  of  Paducah— and  wfth  him  his 
sergeant,  who  rode  with  the  foremost  troop  the 
night  of  the  Belleview  raid.  How  different  the 
welcome  now !  And  messages  and  "Merry  Christ- 
mases"  had  come  from  Lieutenant-Colonel  Gaff. 
ney,  bedad,  and  Sergeant  Connelly,  still  held  to 
service  with  the  Buckeyes,  and  a  glowing  mes 
sage,  too,  from  gallant  Bob  Enyart,  away  out 
in  Texat  with  Sheridan,  watching  affairs  along 


VICTORY  345 

the  Rio  Grande.  But  Kate  Ray  was  there,  radi 
antly  happy,  and  matrons  whose  heads  had 
silvered  since  the  squire's  last  Christmas-tide,  and 
other  Rays  from  Lexington,  and  Enyarts  from 
Louisville,  and  the  Lanes—Major  and  Mrs.— the 
mother  still  in  mourning.  Nothing  was  left  of 
the  wines  that  were  once  the  pride  of  Belle  view's 
cellar,  but  of  wassail — the  doctor's  brew — there 
was  brimming  cup  for  man  and  woman,  and  sips 
that  made  the  pickaninnies'  eyes  pop;  wassail  for 
blue  and  gray,  for  the  men  who  fought  the  hard 
est  -were  the  first  to  forget,  and  glasses  clinked 
that  night  in  hands  that  clinched  opposing  swords 
only  the  year  gone  by — hands  that  now  clung  to 
each  other  in  wordless  amity.  There  was  ever 
green  for  hope  and  holly  for  Christmas  greeting, 
and  music  and  laughter,  and  even  brave  show  at 
a  dance,  but  something  'was  missing — something 
that  had  played  an  important  part  in  the  last 
Christmas  gathering — and  the  squire,  his  heart 
too  full  for  speech,  stared  round  him,  asking 
man  and  woman  what  it  was.  The  blush  that 
flew  to  Kate  Ray's  face  as  she  darted  into  the 
library,  the  peal  of  merry  laughter,  the  witchery 
in  Daisy's  beamine  eyes  as  she  stood  there  under 
the  silken  folds  of  N  jrman's  favorite  guidon— the 
starry  field,  the  snowy  and  scarlet  stripes  draping 
the  chandelier — all  of  a  sudden  gave  him  the  cue. 
"Bless  my  heart!"  he  cried,  "it's  the  mistletoe!" 
Then,  suddenly  an  inspiration  seized  him.  Sol 
emnly  he  set  his  glass  upon  the  sideboard,  and, 
with  the  eyes  of  all  upon  him,  stepped  forth  until 
the  silvery  curls  were  squarely  beneath  the  silken 


346  NORMAN  HOLT 

emblem  lie  [had  turned  from  in  wrath  four  years 
agone,  and  that  in  nervousness  or  sense  of  linger 
ing  animosity  he  had  obviously  shunned  and 
shrunken  from  ever  since.  Norman,  clasping  hands 
at  the  moment  with  Major  Lane,  noted  the  sud 
den  hush,  and  turned  to  see.  Like  a  cavalier  of 
the  days  "when  knighthood  was  in  flower, "  the 
now  venerable  host  was  bending  over  Daisy — 
Daisy,  a  dream  of  joyous,  girlish,  womanly,  wifely 
beauty.  One  instant  he  glanced  around  him  with 
glistening  eyes;  then,  circling  her  slender  form 
with  his  arm,  he  bowed  his  handsome  old  head 
and  pressed  his  lips  upon  her  brow;  then  looked 
upward  at  the  flag,  and  his  trembling  hand,  fol 
lowing  reverently,  touched  one  moment  the  starry 
field,  then  slowly,  tenderly  fell,  as  though  in  bene 
diction,  upon  her  forehead. 

"Little  woman,"  he  said,  "I'm  too  old  to  re 
construct,  but  I  reckon  that  big  boy  you  stole 
from  me  did— about  right— when  he  stood  by  that 
flag." 

FINIS. 


WHAT  THE  CRITICS  SAY  OF 

The  Range  Dwellers 

By  B.  M.   BOWER 


**  A  clever  and  humorous  story,  delightfully  clean  and  wholesome, 
and  possessing  enough  of  the  dramatic  and  dangerous  element  to  keep 
the  imagination  excited  to  the  end." — The  Nashville  American. 

"  A  bright,  jolly,  entertaining  yarn  without  a  dull  page." 

—  The  Chicago  Inter -Ocean. 

*'  One  of  the  most  charming  and  appealing  of  all  Western  novels. 
There  is  action  and  vivacity  at  all  times,  and  the  reader's  interest  never 
sways  for  an  instant.  The  story  is  admirably  written  and  runs  along 
smoothly  at  all  times." — Philadelphia  Press. 

44  Here  are  every  day,  genuine  cowboys,  just  as  they  really  exist, 
spirited  action,  a  range  feud  between  two  families,  and  a  Romeo  and 
Juliet  courtship  in  the  Far  West  which  make  easy  reading.  Mr.  Bower 
cnows  his  Wild  West  intimately  and  writes  of  it  entertainingly." 

— Des  Maine s  Register  and  Leader. 

**  Told  with  a  good  deal  of  humor  and  a  lot  of  unusual  spirit.  A 
very  clever  book — one  that  has  more  atmosphere  than  usual,  and  which 
can  be  picked  up  at  any  time  to  fill  a  long  felt  want  for  excitement." 

— Philadelphia  Inquirer. 

"  A  tale  to  sex  the  blood  tingling.  It  is  a  story  of  the  West,  with 
the  scene  laid  on  a  Montana  cattle  ranch.  A  story  well  told  and  a  story 
worth  reading." — St.  Louis  Republic. 

"  Mr.  Bower  has  portrayed  but  few  characters,  but  these  he  has 
pictured  with  the  strong  and  yet  delicate  stroke  of  a  true  master.  The 
atmosphere  of  the  West  is  perfect;  one  sees  and  feels  the  vibrant  vital 
life  of  the  ranch  activities  all  through  the  telling  of  the  story." 

— Pittsburg  Dispatch. 

**  Has  many  stirring  situations  and  exciting  incidents  illustrative  of 
existence  in  the  open." — Boston  Budget-Beacon. 

**The  book  is  vigorous,  with  the  bracing  open  air  of  the  Far 
West."— Rochester  Herald. 

Cloth  Bound,  Illustrated.    Popular  Edition,  joe. 


G.  W,  DILLINGHAM  CO.,  Publishers,  NEW  YORK 


THE  ROCK  OF  CHICKAMAUGA 

-By 
GENERAL  CHARLES  KING 


"  I  have  just  finished  *  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga'  and  I  want  to 
thank  you  for  the  admirable  manner  in  which  you  have  portrayed  Gen 
eral  George  H.  Thomas.  He  was  the  captain  of  the  first  company  I 
served  in,  but  had  left  a  few  months  before  I  joined.  I  served  under 
him  during  the  whole  Civil  "War  and  when  I  think  of  George  Washington 
involuntarily  the  picture  of  General  Thomas  appears  before  my  mind's 
eye.  Militarily  and  Morally  he  was  the  greatest  man  the  war  produced." 
— FRED  PHISTERER,  Assistant  Adjutant  General  State  of  New  York. 

"  The  book  is  one  of  the  strongest  of  the  many  that  the  author  has 
put  forth  ;  what  he  has  to  say  of  military  operations  is  sure  to  hold  the 
attention,  and  he  has  not  forgotten  to  introduce  the  element  of  romance 
for  the  delight  of  those  who  feel  that  no  novel  is  quite  complete  unless 
the  tender  passion  enters  into  it." — Newark  Evening  News. 

"  The  story  is  a  marked  advance  on  the  author's  previous  stories. 
Events  forge  straight  ahead,  and  there  is  a  genial  humanness  to  the 
characters  that  immediately  arouses  our  interest  and  our  loyalty." 

— Chicago  Tribune. 

"  This  story  of  Captain  King's  bears  the  marks  of  soldierly  knowl 
edge.  The  attitude  of  Stanton,  Grant  and  Sherman  toward  Thomas  is 
referred  to  more  than  once  in  the  book,  and  the  reason  that  is  ascribed 
for  it  with  every  probability  is  that  Thomas  was  a  Southern  man.  But 
so  also  was  Farragut." — New  Orleans  Picayune. 

"  The  book  is  full  of  stirring  battle  pictures  and  pen  portraits  of  the 
generals  of  the  armies  in  the  West — Grant,  Sherman,  Sheridan,  Rose- 
crans,  Hooker,  Thomas,  and,  incidentally,  of  Lincoln  and  Stanton — pic 
tures  and  portraits  all  drawn  with  an  eye  loyal  to  the  verities  of  history." 

— New   York  Herald. 

"It  is  thoroughly  imbued  with  the  characteristics  of  its  author, 
which  are  a  background  of  authentic  history,  military  atmosphere  reflected 
from  large  experience,  involution  of  plot,  charming  love  interest,  and  a 
stirring  style  that  leads  from  one  climax  to  another." 

— Philadelphia  Evening  Telegraph. 

"  In  drawing  his  warriors  General  King  rises  to  a  very  high  plane 
of  descriptive  writing." — Baltimore  Sun. 

"  This  story  shows  General  King  at  his  best.  It  has  the  vigor  and 
freshness  of  his  '  Colonial  Daughter.'  Its  diction  is  a  constant  pleasure, 
and  taken  all  in  all,  it  is  a  novel  of  strength,  pathos,  and  its  depth  of 
human  emotion  is  portrayed  with  a  facile  and  able  pen." 

— Milwaukee  Sentinel* 

I2mo,  Cloth  bound,  Illustrated,  $1.50 


G.  W.  DILLINGHAM  CO.,  Publishers,  NEW  YORK 


Wliat  Critics  Say  of 

99 


'THE  BLACK  MOTOR  CAR 

By  HARRIS  BURLAND 


"Anger,  malice,  and  all  uncharitableness  figure  largely  in  this 
sensational  novel,  set  to  a  modern  keynote,  that  of  a  motor  car.  An 
embezzser  entered  prison,  a  man  who  had  lost  his  honor,  but  retained 
many  good  traits.  After  fourteen  years  he  emerged  a  ravening  beast, 
and  began  to  take  his  revenge  on  the  world." — 7^he  Outlook, 

"A.  melodramatic  story  of  the  intense  and  lurid  kind,  with  not 
much  motoring  in  it  until  the  last  chapter,  which  is  given  to  a  thrilling 
description  of  a  night  ride  for  life,  ending  in  tragedy." 

— Philadelphia  Evening  Telegraph. 

"  There  is  something  fascinating  before  opening  the  book  to  glance 
at  the  outside  cover  and  absorb  the  meaning  of  a  striking  picture  of  a 
gleaming  auto  with  its  eyes  of  fire  generated  through  headlights,  while 
on  the  driver's  seat  sits  a  black-bearded  man  with  a  sinister  aspect  that 
at  once  suggests  action.  The  story  develops  in  aristocratic  England,  and 
there  is  plenty  of  coloring  and  rapid-fire  action." — Portland  Oregonian. 

"There  is  a 'go'  in  Harris  Burland's  novel  'The  Black  Motor 
Car '  as  well  as  in  the  car  itself.  There  are  '  things  doing '  in  every 
chapter. " — Cleveland  Plaindealer. 

"The  author  manages  to  keep  one's  interest  at  fever  height  until 
the  very  last  line.  It  is  a  rapid  transit  romance  with  a  vengeance." 

— Philadelphia  Item. 

**  In  the  way  of  exciting  fiction  there  could  be  nothing  more  dis- 
ireetly  sensational  than  this  story.  It  fairly  bristles  with  wonderful 
incidents  in  which  a  woman  who  has  betrayed  a  lover,  dishonest  for  her 
Bake,  is  pursued  relentlessly  by  her  victim.  Those  who  like  their  fiction 
well  spiced  with  stirring  and  surprising  incident  will  appreciate  this 
remarkable  story." — Boston  Budget  and  Beacon. 

"  Excitement,  mystery  and  horror  in  every  chapter,  sensational 
developments  following  each  other  in  rapid  succession,  make  up  a  story 
that  will  delight  anyone  who  loves  exciting  literature.  The  plot  is  a 
cross  work  of  various  interests  and  the  story  is  well  written.  The 
interest  is  sustained  to  the  last." — Louisville  Courier-Journal. 

"  We  would  not  like  to  say  how  many  automobile  stories  are  now  in 
course  of  construction,  but  it  is  safe  to  give  the  opinion  that  not  one 
will  be  more  hair-raising  than  Mr.  Burland's  book." — Rochester  Herald. 

"  Highly  sensational,  with  a  plot  full  of  surprises  and  crammed 
with  excitement  from  start  to  finish,  the  book  may  be  recommended  to 
those  who  like  a  story  which  travels  at  a  whirling  pace." 

— Boston  Herald. 

"  Suspense  and  horror  compel  the  reading  of  this  story  to  the  very 
last  word.  The  events  related  are  of  so  novel  and  exciting  a  character 
and  follow  each  other  with  such  rapidity  that  when  the  final  climax  is 
reached  the  reader  feels  as  if  he,  too,  had  been  whirled  along  in  the  mad 
flight  of  the  terrible  car  with  its  fierce  and  gloomy  owner." 

—  Utica  Observer, 
izmc,  S/4  ^-7/4  inches,  339 pages,  cloth  bound,  illustrated.     $1.50. 

G.  W.  DILLINGHAM  OX  Publishers,  NEW  YORK 


WHAT  THE  CRITICS  SAY  OF 

Chip  of  the  Flying  U 

By  B.  M.  BOWER 

"  •  Chip '  is  all  right.     Better  than  *  The  Virginian.' " 

—Brooklyn  Eagle. 

*'  The  name  of  B.  M.  Bower  will  stand  for  something  readable  in 
the  estimation  of  every  man,  and  most  every  woman,  who  reads  this 
finfc  new  story  of  a  Montana  ranch  and  its  dwellers." 

— Publisher  and  Retailer. 

*'  Its  qualities  and  merit  can  be  summed  up  in  the  brief  but  suffi 
cient  statement  that  it  is  thoroughly  delightful." 

—Albany  Times 'Union. 

**  For  strength  of  interest,  vivid  description,  clever  and  convincing 
character  drawing  and  literary  merit  it  is  the  surprise  of  the  year." 

—  Walderfs  Stationer  and  Printer. 

*'  It  is  an  appealing  story  told  in  an  active  style  which  fairly  sparkles 
in  reproducing  the  atmosphere  of  the  wild  and  woolly  West.  It  is  con 
sistently  forceful  and  contains  a  quantity  of  refreshing  comedy." 

— Philadelphia  Press. 
**  Bound  to  stand  among  the  famous  novels  of  the  year." 

— Baltimore  American. 

** '  The  Virginian  *  has  found  many  imitators,  but  few  authors  have 
come  as  near  dup!;cating  Owen  Wister's  magnetic  hero  as  has  B.  M. 
Bower  in'  Chip  of  the  Flying  U.' " — Philadelphia  Item. 

"  B.  M.  Bower  has  portrayed  but  few  characters,  but  these  he  has 
pictured  with  the  strong  and  yet  delicate  stroke  of  a  true  master.  The 
atmosphere  of  the  West  is  perfect;  one  sees  and  feels  the  vibrant,  vital 
life  of  the  ranch  activities  all  through  the  telling  of  the  story." 

— Cincinnati  Times-Star. 

**  It  brims  over  with  humor  showing  the  bright  and  laughing  side 
of  ranch  life.  It  is  a  story  which  will  delightfully  entertain  the  reader." 

—Portland  Journal. 

"  The  story  contains  strength  of  interest,  vivid  descriptions,  clevef 
and  convincing  character  drawing  and  literary  merits,  and  the  author 
lays  on  the  colors  with  a  master's  touch.'* 

—Albany  Evening  Journal. 

12mo,  Cloth  Bound>  Illustrated.    Popular  Edition,  $oc. 
G.  W.  DELLINGH AM  CO.,  Publisher*  NEW  YORK 


What  the  Critics  say  of 

TONIO,  SON  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

By  General  Charles  King 


4i  A  tale  of  the  Apache  war,  the  scene  being  laid  in  the  far  Southwest. 
The  story  is  one  of  rivalry  in  love  between  two  young  soldiers,  and  the 
lights  and  shades  of  character  are  so  nicely  drawn  that  the  reader  easily 
picks  the  winner  long  before  the  race  is  over.  Running  through  it  all, 
with  real  feeling  and  much  pathos,  is  the  story  of  the  faithful,  honorable 
highstrung  Indian,  Tonio.  It  gives  a  somewhat  new  view  of  the  wild 
man  of  the  prairies,  and  one  is  quite  content  to  accept  it  from  the  hands 
of  one  so  well  qualified  to  depict  it." — Arkansas  Democrat. 

"A  fine,  spirited  narrative  of  events  of  unusual  interest  and  of  a 
phase  of  life  with  which  the  author  is  absolutely  familiar,  and  it  pos 
sesses  also  the  rarer  quality  of  a  keen  and  true  analysis  of  character  and 
motive.  It  is  unquestionably  one  of  the  best  works  of  fiction  of  the 
season." — The  Nashville  American. 

"  The  story  is  written  in  General  King's  characteristic  style ;  action 
is  more  rapid  and  there  are  fewer  digressions  than  usual  with  him.  The 
tale  holds  the  interest  continuously,  the  reader  not  knowing  just  how  it 
all  will  end  until  he  reaches  the  final  chapter." — Boston  Transcript. 

"  The  character  of  General  King's  stories  is  too  well  known  to  require 
explanation,  and  the  pathetic  history  of  Tonio  is  as  rich  in  romance 
and  as  thrilling  in  incident  as  its  many  entertaining  predecessors. 
The  descriptions  of  army  life  in  Arizona  some  years  ago  are  especially 
interesting." —  Toledo  Blade. 

"  Is  well  constructed  and  moves  along  with  a  dash  and  fullness  of 
incident  that  holds  the  reader's  constant  attention." — Louisville  Courier 
Journal. 

4 '  '  Tonio '  is  marked  by  the  wealth  of  stirring  incident,  and  the  detail 
of  frontier  soldier  life  which  testify  in  all  General  King's  books  to  the 
author's  vivid  imagination  and  familiarity  with  military  affairs.  There 
are  pages  of  stirring  battle  scenes." — New  York  World. 

"  There  is  lots  of  life  to  the  book.  It  will  make  a  pleasurable  addi 
tion  to  the  summer  luggage." — The  Cleveland  Leader. 

"  No  one  is  more  capable  of  writing  an  army  story  than  General  King, 
and  this,  his  latest,  is  one  of  his  best,  holding  the  reader's  attention  to 
the  end."—  The  Bookseller ',  Newsdealer  and  Stationer. 

12mo,  Cloth  Bound,  Color  illustrations,  $1,50 


G.  W.  DILUNGHAM  CO.,  Publishers,  New  York 


The  Reviewers  speak  in  the  highest  praise  of 

THE  WARRENS  OE  VIRGINIA 

By  GEORGE  GARY  EGGLESTON 


44  Here  we  have  revealed  some  of  the  best  of  the  conditions  in 
the  South,  old  and  new.  It  is  a  story  of  intense  interest." 

— Philadelphia  Inquirer. 

"  Romances  of  the  civil  war  will  never  lose  their  popularity,  and 
this  has  the  additional  merit  of  having  been  written  by  a  Confederate 
soldier  who  served  from  Bull  Run  to  Appomattox,  and  whose  whole 
some,  vigorous  writings  are  in  great  demand  by  readers  of  discrimin 
ation  . " — A  Ibany  Times-  Union. 

"  His  description  of  the  last  days  of  that  most  heroic  body  of 
men,  the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia,  will  send  a  thril!  through  every 
breast." — The  Nashville  American. 

"Vivid  memories  of  the  ghastly  struggle  that  lasted  from  1861 
to  1865,  memories  grown  dim  by  the  passing  of  years,  are  reawakened 
by  the  story  of  this  book." — Richmond  Times-Dispatch. 

"  It  is  said  of  Mr.  Eggleston  that  '  no  writer  in  the  score  and 
more  of  novelists  now  exploiting  the  Southern  fieM  can  for  a  moment 
compare,  in  truth  and  interest,'  with  him.  He  knows  the  old  life  in 
Virginia,  the  character,  the  impulses,  the  inspirations  of  the  people 
of  that  time  and  country,  as  no  other  writer  now  living  can  pretend 
to  do.  Better  still,  he  is  in  full  and  generous  sympathy  with  it  all." 

—Dallas  News. 

*'Mr.  Eggleston  was  a  Confederate  soldier,  and  he  tells  a  war 
story  with  plenty  of  plot  and  counterplot.  '  The  Warrens  of  Vir 
ginia'  will  interest  many  readers — they  will  find  its  action  sufficiently 
thrilling,  and  exciting  incidents  follow  one  another  fast  enough  in 
the  tale." — Charleston  (S.  C.)  News  and  Courier. 

"  Many  war  stories  have  been  told  and  many  plays  of  the  great 
conflict  put  upon  the  stage,  but  there  is  none  of  them  more  interesting 
than  this  simple  story.  The  love  interest  is  strong  and  the  character 
drawing  excellent.  The  war  atmosphere  and  description  of  campaign 
Scenes  help  hold  the  reader's  attention." — Houston  Chronicle. 

I2mo.     Cloth  Bound. 
Illustrated  from  scenes  in  the  play,  $1.50. 


G.  W.  BILLINGHAM  CO.,  Publishers,  NEW  YORK 


JQO. 


Norman  Ho! 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


